


The Sun is Now Fading

by hartstrings



Series: Goodbye to Sleep [1]
Category: Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Biting, Blood (as you do), F/M, Fledgling's Embrace, Fluff and Angst, Friends to sort-of Lovers, Human Fledgling, Human/Vampire Relationship, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Nosferatu (Vampire: The Masquerade), Pre-Canon, Rating earned in Chapter 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26209717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hartstrings/pseuds/hartstrings
Summary: December, 1999. An uneasy truce has been settled with the Kuei-Jin, and the Anarchs mourn their dead. On a rare night of peace, a woman in need comes knocking at the door of Nines Rodriguez - and against his better judgement, he seeks out proof that he is still capable of some good. He finds more than he expected - but to lead requires sacrifice, and once more he must surrender for the cause.When she feels more alone than ever, Mary unknowingly finds aid in the very creatures that hunt her kind and claws her sense of self back. For the first time in her life she can see a future - but her rise draws an outside observer.Little do either know that in five years, the future of Los Angeles will be in her hands.
Relationships: Nines Rodriguez/Original Character(s), Nines Rodriguez/Original Female Character
Series: Goodbye to Sleep [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1929829
Comments: 19
Kudos: 38





	1. Runaway

_**December 10th, 1999** _

The twilight years of the millennium. Fifty years since his Embrace. Despite every action of his speaking to the contrary, Nines Rodriguez never thought he’d ever see such an anniversary.

He fought nevertheless, even when he wasn’t sure he’d live to the next sunrise. The year previous saw California under siege by the Kuei-Jin, and after scores of friends, comrades, and devotees were lost they had an uneasy truce. Truce, not victory. Only bought time, an empty reassurance. He knew better than most that the ensuing calm was something to dread, often a prelude to an approaching storm.

There might have been a storm approaching, but he wasn’t about to run his people ragged in the brief moments of calm. Two years of constant war and the deaths of countless friends frayed the nerves of even Kindred. Making it to the dawn of the second millennium left him feeling empty - what made him so different? Kindred he’d known since his Embrace were now ashes, and ashes were all he could taste. 

Los Angeles’ newfound nights of calm were likely to be their last reprieve for a while - if they were lucky the peace would last until the New Year. One night of rest to feed and grant fresh eyes to their situation wasn’t about to kill anyone - he saw his fellow survivors looking hollow behind the eyes, embodying a second death. They’d all seen so much - too much. Everyone held their grief in their own way, an emotion that even death couldn’t erase - some turned to anger, others withdrew. Some, like him, let their grief fuel them and ignite a fire that would drive them forward - but after so long they were falling apart. Rest was best for the cause. Nines had to hold himself to the same standards he held the numerous Anarchs following his lead - and as much discomfort as his new position of _leader_ gave him (so many others, now ash, were so much better for the job) he knew he had to lead by example.

So he found himself in his haven, lying still while the moon still shone for the first time in what must have been years.

Stasis wasn’t a welcome thing. As he grew older - as the years under his curse dragged on - Nines began to feel if he stopped moving he’d never start again. Torpor, the call of the ages, was still a century or more away from truly calling him, but he felt its presence nevertheless. It was only the occasional murmur at the back of his mind in moments of silence, reminder enough that he couldn’t afford to pause for too long. He’d fought too hard for his present reality to fall into slumber and have it slip through his fingers.

He distracted himself listening to the gentle bustle of life in the condominium complex home to his current haven - a basement suite, unappealing to mortals for all the reasons it suited his purposes. Some might have called him sentimental for settling in East LA, but after the hell of war he appreciated the echoes of home long forgotten. Humanity was a complicated subject in his mind - he had his own people to look after, the reality of his unlife. Yet part of that reality was pain, self-hatred from the rare but necessary dips into cruelty. He was a monster, and after two years of war he could hardly bear it. In East LA, he could remember being human, remember that the very things he saw and felt in life had made him the man he now was. To witness, if not belong. The complex’s thin walls had him bearing an audience to muffled conversations in a multitude of languages, baby’s cries in the early hours, telenovelas and late night radio. Life and blood, a world separate but parallel. It was a comfortable buzz that drowned out the worries in the back of his mind.

As the hours dragged on and all but the insomniacs turned in for the night, the white noise died down and was replaced by a current of anxiety. The air seemed to thicken, as if the humidity suddenly rose. He swore he could feel the water droplets in the air vibrating. Nines never put much stock in talk of auras, but he knew instinct and his gut feelings intimately. A threshold of change approached - whether an enemy or bad news - and he wanted to do all he could to hold to the last moments before the world erupted around him as it had so many times. He glanced to the phone on the coffee table, expecting it to ring and a voice to tell him another haven had been burned. All he received was silence. Uncertainty, and dread. The tension in the air intensified with every passing minute, and grew enough that he was forced to sit up. He leaned forward, hand ghosting over the grip of his Colt in anticipation.

The tension snapped as his fingertips brushed his leather holster. There was a clamour of hurried footsteps coming from the stairwell, and the faint sound of a man shouting far above. It wasn’t a familiar voice, and he couldn’t make out specific words - but it was English, from the cadence of it. Nines stood with his pistol in hand and crossed the room to his front door, latched and locked for the kine’s sake more than his. He flattened himself against the wall next to the door, ready to shoot if anyone was stupid enough to kick the door in, and listened.

Footsteps rang down the hall - only one person, lightweight by the sounds of each footfall. Then panicked pounding on the door across from his, the first visible from the stairwell. Contrasted against the quiet of only a few minutes ago, each blow against the wood thundered.

“Help, help-” It was a woman, out of breath and terrified out of her mind. Her voice was clear despite its quiver. “- please, let me in, just for a moment, please, Jesus fuck, please help, I can pay, please let me hide-”

Nines could hear her heartbeat from where he stood. Relief washed over him - _human_. His grip on his pistol relaxed only briefly. The man’s shouting from above now echoed down the stairwell, words now terribly clear.

“DON’T RUN FROM ME!” The fury in the man’s voice was palpable even several stories down. His footsteps were heavier than hers but had a strangeness to the pattern that suggested he was stumbling. The woman let out a choked whimper - the apartment across from Nines was vacant, and she must have realized it for soon she turned to hammer at the door of his haven.

“Please, _God_ , I made it this far-”

It was an unspoken rule to leave humans to their own fate - the world was cruel and life was short. The involvement of Kindred in the affairs of mortals tended to make their world crueller and life shorter. Humans paid no mind to the lives of the animals they ate - why should Kindred be any different? Let alone the danger he could be inviting onto his own doorstep by interceding - hunters were no strangers to theatrics when necessary. 

Yet he was where he was because of an attachment to humanity. If he didn’t care, he’d be crashing somewhere quieter, where his moments of peace weren’t interrupted by crying babies, laughing children, and grainy telenovelas. Fear and caution were flimsy excuses - he didn’t deserve the respect he’d been afforded if he couldn’t deal with a human or two, hunters or not. More than anything, he’d seen so much go wrong in the past two years that he was spoiling for something to go _right_. No matter how small.

He shifted from his position on the wall, reaching out to unlock his door. The latch had only barely clicked when it flew open and a woman a full foot shorter than him dashed in. A duffel bag slung over her shoulder swung with her as she closed the door as quickly as she’d opened it, locking it with prejudice. She wore an oversized black hoodie over a loose dress, feet laced into worn white sneakers. Her hair was dark and cropped into a bob a couple inches above her shoulders. Her face was plain, skin pale and sickly - she had a split lip that had scabbed over, but reopened amidst the excitement.

The scent of blood reached his nostrils - he saw the flush on her cheeks, heard her heartbeat clearly. Even with his thirst sated and decades of practiced control behind him, killer instinct fluttered to the forefront. Nines silenced it while the woman took stock of her new surroundings - his apartment.

It was bare, water stains present on the ceiling and the carpet outdated. His furnishings were utilitarian - a grainy television set to keep track of the news, a yellowing computer one of the younger Anarchs (sent to his final death in a clash with the Kuei-Jin) had insisted on setting up for him. The couch was his sole luxury, comfortable and where he waited out the daylight but always within arm’s reach of the telephone. The suite’s sole window was boarded up against the sunlight - excusable enough for humans, given there were no bars on the window and Los Angeles’ break-ins were only on the rise. He kept a few empty pizza boxes on the kitchen counters for appearance’s sake, the fridge home to a couple of blood packs hidden in the crisper drawer. Nines’ haven was a far cry from a penthouse, but the woman looked at it as if it offered a view of Central Park.

Her relief was cut short by a guttural cry echoing down the stairwell - only a floor above, by Nines’ reckoning. At last she took notice of him - only a quick glance with wide eyes, hardly daring to look. She held a finger to her lips though she needn’t have bothered - Nines was silent as the grave. The woman scarcely dared to breathe - he could see the whites of her eyes as she stared at the floor, as if looking at anything would alert her pursuer. It was the man’s turn to begin pounding on doors - a floor above, he noted, feeling the vibrations through the wall. It wasn’t long before other annoyed shouts joined the fray. Nines glanced at the clock. 3 AM. Bad time for a domestic.

“Don’t let her lie to you-” The man had begun to say, but he was cut off by a string of furious Spanish from one of the neighbors. 

“Someone’s going to call the cops.” Nines spoke first, the yelling from above loud enough to drown out any conversation between them to unwanted listeners. 

The woman’s heartbeat spiked with fear. “He’s got friends on the force.” she breathed. It was then that the woman’s eyes (hazel, he noted) darted down to his right hand - and the pistol he held. There was the slightest wrinkle in her brow, but her voice remained steady. Any fear seemed to have melted into grim determination. “I can’t stay here.”

“No, you can’t.” he agreed. “You got a car? Buses stopped running an hour ago.”

She shook her head.

“... what exactly did you plan on doing?”

“I didn’t plan on him waking up.” she hissed, though her expression was a miserable one. “Pills must have expired, or something - he was supposed to sleep for a while. Thought I’d steal a bike, maybe.” He raised his brows at how candid she was. “Walk until I couldn’t anymore. Anything’s better than…”

The woman fell silent, looking away from him again. As she twisted her collar moved, exposing fresh bruising along her neck in a shape he knew all too well. Fingerprints.

Distant sirens started - one of many likely echoing into the night across the city. Never ending. 

Nines didn’t ask her to elaborate. “You have any money?”

She drew her duffel bag closer to her body and clutched it protectively. “Twenty bucks.” He caught the glint of a wedding ring on her finger, and she noted his shifting gaze. “Plus the ring. Look, if you want it I’ll give you everything no problem if you get me out of here first.”

The shouting above grew louder as the sirens did. The front door would be a no-go. 

“Not going to rob you, kid.” He replied, somewhat amused by how she frowned at the term. She looked like she was in her early 20s - then again, he didn’t look much older. Maybe she was right to be annoyed. Any amusement died as he considered their options. _Her_ options, he corrected himself. Safe harbors were rarer than he’d like. Nines was starting to become the LA Anarchs’ new poster boy - walking around with a human in tow would raise attention and put her in worse danger than she’d ever be in the hands of the shouting man upstairs. There was one place he knew where humans could venture that he knew beyond a doubt was safe, but he’d never hear the end of it. “What’s your name?”

She was looking at him warily, the hand that wasn’t clutching her duffle bag slipping into the pocket of her hoodie. Nines noted another shape within - a knife, maybe - and strangely enough felt relieved. It meant she might have a fighting chance. He dismissed any possibility of her being a hunter - she didn’t have the telltale scent of incense about her and she seemed _quite_ content to take the Lord’s name in vain. “Mary.” she answered. “Yours?”

“Mary, huh? Old fashioned. Call me Nines.” he replied, unable to keep from smirking. “I’ve got a plan.”

“Yeah, my parents were the fundie type.” Mary replied flatly. He wondered what they’d make of her seeking refuge from someone like him - but figured that if she was in the situation she was they didn’t have much care for what became of her to begin with. “What’s the plan?” She spoke as if numb, voice lacking any tone. In shock, maybe - he wondered if he’d forgotten how fragile humans could be, but realized it was the same state he’d been dwelling in for the past several months. Survival being paramount over everything, unable to show any weakness or emotion. The shouting upstairs was drowned out as the sirens drew close, cop cars likely pulling up to the front of the complex. When the noise cut out Mary’s fear returned in force, tongue stilled and eyes wide once more.

It was in their best interest that her fear was kept at a minimum. Her racing heartbeat was a liability where they were going.

Nines approached the basement window and pulled the boards from it with ease. Mary jumped at the noise, but he waved her over. “Come here. I’ll give you a boost. Open it and crawl through - screen’s been gone for ages.”

Any distrust on her part was set aside, the need for haste overriding it. She approached, and Nines lifted her with ease. Beneath her baggy clothing was a small and bony frame - her knee stabbed into his chest as she straightened to a standing position, leaning against the wall.

“Christ, you’re strong.” she grunted, the window sticking somewhat as she got it open. Mary tossed her duffle bag outside before wriggling through. Nines followed her, ignoring her observation. If only she knew. He tugged the window shut behind them. He’d be staying elsewhere for the night, it seemed.

They’d crawled out to the parking lot behind the complex. The cracked pavement was illuminated by the dim orange glow of a single street lamp. Thankfully the surrounding darkness was still pitch - the night was at its peak. His life had become defined by hours until sunrise.

Nines crossed the parking lot wordlessly, Mary following silently behind. Now that they were outdoors she was remarkably quiet - were he human he might have forgotten she was present, so light were her footsteps. She gasped a little when he stopped next to a motorcycle and fished a helmet out from a nearby bush.

“Catch.” he tossed it to her, and she removed her hands from her pockets at last to grab it.

“You’re not going to wear-”

“I only have one.” he cut her off. “And you’ll need it more than I will.” Though if they crashed, she’d better hope she lost consciousness. His body could handle a collision, but he’d be a nasty sight - the worries of the Masquerade and all it entailed aside. Nines slung his leg over the bike and nudged the kickstand back with his heel. He watched her buckle on the helmet then take her seat behind him.

“I’ve never ridden one of these before.” Mary confessed.

“Hold on. I plan on peeling out of here fast.” The second the motor roared to life they’d draw attention, and the sooner they were out of range the more likely it was they’d go ignored.

Hesitantly Mary wrapped her arms around his waist. He could feel the warmth radiating from her arms even through the layers of clothing. Far away memories of the sun at his back came to mind feeling her behind him. Had it been so long since he’d made contact with the living, that warmth was so foreign? It made part of him ache, the memories of long lost faces shifting in his mind.

The beat of her heart was drowned out when he started the motor. Nines sped out of the parking lot and into the back alley, eager to escape both the mess behind them and his own thoughts. He turned onto a paved street and caught sight of flashing red and blue lights in his mirrors, fading into the distance. He smiled. 

Mary’s grip on him tightened when they exited onto the Santa Ana freeway and the bike’s motor revved with the acceleration, wind whipping at them both. He was stone, immovable - but all too aware of just how fragile she was. Nines kept his eye on the speedometer - the last thing they needed was to get pulled over, and while he was confident he’d succeed in a chase she lacked his experience and reflexes if he had to do some tight maneuvering.

For the first mile her body was tense and her grip strong - he caught sight of her glancing nervously behind them several times. After the second mile, it wasn’t long before her grip on him relaxed. The warmth at his back faded, her body leaning away from his and head turning to observe the barrios they passed. They were bathed in yellow light, occasionally shadowed by an overpass, and in the night sky the odd star outshone the city’s light pollution. In the distance the spires from downtown rose glittering with light - their destination.

An odd sound came from her, and he glanced back to see that Mary was laughing. A tear track shone in the passing streetlights, and Nines hastily turned his attention back to the road.

“You’re having a lot of fun for us going the speed limit.” he observed, half shouting over the wind.

“The last time I left the apartment was six months ago.” Mary shouted back, and he could hear her smile in her tone. “I haven’t left the neighborhood since I came here.” Her voice cracked. “It’s beautiful.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Nines replied, but her smile was contagious. Los Angeles was his home - this part of California was in his blood as much as the curse of the ages. Seeing it through new eyes brought something back, and for a moment he understood the Toreador fascination with the living. This little human had managed her escape, was skilled enough to hide - Nines was sure that if he wasn’t there she’d have happily walked until her feet bled. While he only made matters more convenient for her, at least it’d gone right. He couldn’t remember the last time things had.

Signs flew by, the exit to the bulk of downtown ignored. He exited the freeway onto a darker street, looping back along beneath it. Their surroundings here were dark, his speed slowed. The concrete pillars of the freeway loomed beside them like silent statues. Mary had a hand in her pocket again, and he could feel her body stiffen. She was right to be afraid, even if she had no idea as to the true reason to fear.

Their destination slid into view as they rounded a corner - a run down brick building at the end of the street where pavement turned to gravel, peeking out from below the freeway. Attached to it was a four story building host to a handful of run down apartments, owned by no one and home to many. Nines pulled up in front of them and cut the engine.

“The Last Round?” Mary read the sign of the smaller building as she unbuckled her helmet, offering it back to him. 

“It’s a dive.” he warned, tossing the helmet haphazardly at the base of the bike before dismounting. “But you’ll be safe. A friend owns the place.” Nines jerked his head toward the taller building. “I’m going to see if there’s room for you to crash for a bit.”

Mary’s eyes were wide, but she asked no questions about who his ‘friend’ was. Smart. “Should I stay out here?”

It was tempting. The area was relatively harmless - the local homeless kept to themselves and wouldn’t hurt her even if they didn’t, her greatest danger would be a particularly thirsty Anarch. It was still a risk he wasn’t willing to take - the girl had suffered enough without losing a pint or three of blood. To tell the truth, he wasn’t sure if she’d even survive it. Mary was _his_ problem now, and he was intent on making sure she escaped her brush with Kindred society alive and blissfully ignorant. The simple bliss on her face when they rode down the freeway was something he felt a strong urge to preserve. There was enough darkness in the world.

“No.” he answered. “They won’t mind.”

Mary nodded, clutching the straps of her duffel bag as they entered.

The music was always a slap in the face - metal blaring just loud enough to cover any shouting from upstairs, keeping the human clientele downstairs blissfully ignorant. At such a late hour there were only two regular bar flies slouched in their stools, well on their way to drunk enough to forget their own name. The place smelled like sweat, blood, and cigarettes - fitting for the unofficial Anarch command center.

Mary’s nose wrinkled a little, discomfort from the music volume clear by the tightness in her jaw, but she didn’t complain. The bartender barely glanced up from wiping down the counter to observe the two of them, but there was another presence who’d taken keen interest.

Skelter stood in the storage room doorway, stopped in his tracks. His eyes glowed dimly in the smoky gloom - imperceptible to mortal eyes - and narrowed as he took stock of Mary.

“Have a seat in one of the booths.” Nines gestured, and the girl hastily slipped into the least battered booth available. “There’s food and drink if you want.” He wasn’t sure if it was _good_ food, but stale pretzels wouldn’t kill her. “It’s on me.” Judging by her unease, even she could tell that Skelter was not pleased. Nines was assured she wasn’t likely to get into any trouble and approached the former veteran anticipating a few choice words.

“You know how I feel about ghouls.” Skelter spoke lowly, shifting his attention away from Mary. “I thought you weren’t about that bullshit.”

“That hasn’t changed.” Nines replied just as quietly. Ghouls were useful, he couldn’t deny that - but having someone enthralled and attached to him by blood rather than their own free will was something he couldn’t stomach. “I helped her out of a bad situation.”

“Hell of a way to spend a night off.” It was enough to cut down on Skelter’s annoyance, though his skepticism was still clear. His gaze nearly burned, eyes narrowed as if he could ferret out a lie by sight alone. “Can’t blame you for picking up a charity case, I guess. I sorted the whole damn stockroom just for something to do.”

“Do we have any rooms open next door?” Nines pretended not to notice the return of Skelter’s scowl - humans made matters more complicated than they needed to be, and Skelter was a man of efficiency. “I’d like to let her stay while she figures out something long term.”

Coming from anyone else, such a show of altruism in regard to humanity might have drawn a mocking remark from Skelter. Years of war against the Kuei-Jin had proved Nines’ humanitarian streak was no detriment to his strength, however, and had built up enough respect to let his occasional charity pass by uncontested. 

“You’ll have to ask Damsel.” Skelter shrugged. “You better hope she doesn’t end up a deadbeat. If our people need the space she’ll be tossed out on her ass.” He studied Mary over Nines’ shoulder - she’d approached the bar. “If she sees anything you’ll have to ghoul her, you know. Or-”

“I know.” Nines’ answer was quick. _Kill her_ , Skelter was about to say. The unfortunate reality of dealing with a world that could never know theirs. He didn’t need reminding. “Damsel upstairs?”

“Yeah. She spent the night giving a couple of rookies hell, so if you’re lucky she’s tired herself out.”

“Not likely.” The two men smirked at each other before Nines climbed the stairs.

When the Kuei-Jin first arrived on California’s shores, Damsel seemed like any other young Anarch - angry, idealistic, and without focus. In the years that followed she proved she had a knack for more than cracking heads - she had an eye for detail and a talent for rabble rousing that made her more than worth her frequent tirades. He found her hunched over one of the tables upstairs, chin resting in her palm. A police scanner sat on the table, crackling indistinctly. She lifted a brow when Nines came into view. “Thought you had the night off.”

“Thought you did too.” Nines tilted his head toward the scanner.

“This?” Damsel shrugged. “That’s entertainment.” There was a trace of exhaustion in her tone, and she asked her next question as if she dreaded the answer. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing bad.” He began, heading off any worries that his arrival might have implied. As den mother Damsel had probably seen the brunt of the most recent raw horror. “A woman in my complex decided to leave her husband. I’m helping her run.” The truth wasn’t something that would bother her - Nines was well aware that he’d have to fuck up catastrophically to turn the Last Round’s den mother against him. For all of her fury she had a heart that bled more than most - she was young enough to still remember what it was to have one. “I was wondering if we could set her up next door until we find her a spot in a shelter.”

Damsel visibly relaxed, shoulders slumping back down to their previous tired posture. “Jeez. You came all the way over here for a human?” Worry was replaced with confusion, but she didn’t argue the point. “Good thing you did, though. Good luck finding a shelter that’s open.” Damsel lifted her head from her palm, gaze growing steely. “They’ve been full for months since they cut funding, and that’s with reducing stay times.” There was a heat in her tone that suggested she could go on at great length regarding the state of human affairs - it was her job to keep up with them, sparing the rest from their minutiae - but she knew he was waiting for an answer. “Yeah, we have room. Not anyone crashing besides us regulars now that the truce is on. Everyone else cleared out when you gave us the night off.”

“Guess she’s staying until we can get her a job.” Nines couldn’t help but feel a pang of anxiety at the concept - he had no idea what Mary’s skill set was or if she’d even be able to provide for herself. It was a branch of aid he hadn’t expected to travel down, and one that’d take much more time than he’d anticipated.

Damsel seemed moderately amused. “Skelter might give you shit, but you know what you’re doing. Every little bit helps, right? But if we need the rooms I’m kicking her out. I’ve got to take care of our people.”

Always sweet, in her brusque way. “Fair.” 

“The loft should keep her out of our hair. I’ll let the guys know the deal for you. You’ve gotta feed her, though.”

“She’s not a pet.”

For once, Damsel had the grace to say nothing - though her smile was smug enough. Nines pretended not to notice and returned to the stairs, leaving her to the police scanner.

Mary was sitting back in her booth when he returned, a bottle of beer clasped in her hands. Her knuckles were white as she gripped it, and while her eyes seemed firmly fixed on the waxy tabletop she dared a few glances at her surroundings. The exit sign at the back of the bar and the front door occupied her attention the most, and Nines was reminded that in his world she was prey.

She didn’t flinch when he sat across from her in the booth, though. The tendons in her hand flexed, and slowly she released her beer bottle. The contents were drained and the label had been picked at. Nines frowned - he’d only been gone a few minutes, but he supposed if anyone needed a stiff drink it was her.

“We’ve got room.” he began. “The loft next door’s not occupied - nicest room in the place. Kitchen and bathroom on the main level, bed up the stairs. There’s a phone too - I don’t know how up to date the phone book there is but I can track down a new one if you need it. Or one for another city, if there’s people you know.”

Mary lifted her eyes to meet his and shook her head.

Nines swallowed, trying to ignore the fact that he could _feel_ Skelter staring at him. He leaned forward in his seat, the edge of the table pressing into his ribs. “Hey, look.” Closer to her, he didn’t have to raise his voice to be heard over the music. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I can drop you off somewhere if you want, or you can walk out. There’s hotels nearby, probably a pawn shop.” He gestured at her ring.

Her eyes roamed around the bar, studying it with newfound bravery. He could see her chewing the inside of her cheek. Nines didn’t envy her - she had nothing but uncertainty ahead and had no reason to trust him. There was no way he could convince her he meant her no harm - and if something went wrong, saying she wouldn’t be hurt was a lie. 

“Can I ask a question?” 

It wasn’t the answer he was expecting. Nines nodded.

“Why?”

He clasped his hands together on the table. “LA’s gone to shit lately.” _The Final Nights_ , the more superstitious of Kindred were calling them - but from what he knew the end of the world had been proclaimed for decades. Things kept getting worse, misery and strife surpassing what most could remember - but they never came to an end. “I’ve seen a lot of people in bad situations in my life. Couldn’t do shit about it. I figure now that I’ve got the resources to actually do something this time I should put them to use.”

Mary didn’t look entirely convinced.

“That, and-” he added. “- a woman named Mary seeking shelter at my doorstep? I figure that’s a sign. Don’t want to risk any trouble from a higher power if you’re forced to sleep in a stable when I could have helped.”

It drew a smile from her, and a little warmth bloomed within him. “Didn’t expect someone to refer back to the Bible in this place. Uh. No offense.” For the first time her tone seemed natural, warm - he wondered if it was how she normally sounded, when not in fear for her life.

“None taken.” he returned her smile - it was contagious. “I was raised Catholic.” An irony that never left his memory. “I don’t practice anymore, though. You don’t have to worry about me hauling you to Mass in the morning. I like to sleep in.”

At that Mary yawned. “I can’t remember the last time I slept late. I’m looking forward to it.” From the dark circles under her eyes she looked like she needed it. 

Nines had his answer. He hoped he hadn’t inadvertently doomed her - they just needed a week or two of peace, a week or two where she had nothing to overhear or stumble across. It was a long shot, it was greedy - but it was what was needed. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah.” She drew her duffel bag into her lap and scooted down to the edge of the booth. “I’ve got food in here, so you don’t have to worry about me stealing bags of pretzels from here.”

“You can if you want. I can’t guarantee they won’t be stale, though.” People didn’t come to the Last Round to eat. He cleared his throat and continued before she could contemplate what that meant. “I’ll show you to your room.” 

Nines followed her out of the booth and opened the front door for her, the blinds hanging across it clattering as it swung open. He glanced back to see that Skelter had not moved from where he lurked, hidden in the gloom. Skelter held his gaze as Mary ducked under Nines’ arm and stepped into the night air. Even if he didn’t hear more about his decision later, he knew Skelter wasn’t about to forget.

All sound from within the bar was muffled as the door shut behind him, and he tried to let any misgivings on his part be silenced with it. 

Mary seemed relieved, exhaling and letting her shoulders grow slack. “Christ, I could barely hear myself think in there.” She peered at his motorbike while they walked past. It didn’t escape his notice that she paid special attention to the plate number. He wondered if she was able to remember it.

“It keeps the kids out.” Nines replied, walking the short distance down the sidewalk to the small apartment building. “You get used to it after a while.”

Mary was leaning back on her heels, staring up at the top floor as they approached. “You spend a lot of time here?”

The door groaned as he pulled it open - the rust on the hinges was starting to get out of hand. It’d likely remain that way until the door fell off - the decay of his surroundings had a bad habit of echoing the wear he felt. Nines looked back at Mary, and she shrunk a little. Belatedly he realized she must have thought she’d overstepped her bounds and he made an effort to smile again. “Sometimes.”

The lack of reprisal soothed her enough for her to follow him inside. They’d entered into a thin hallway, mailboxes hanging open against the wall by the front door. Flanking the hall were two doors leading to the first floor apartments. At the end of the hall were the stairs, lit by a flickering fluorescent light. It smelled of damp, water stains evident on the once-white walls. Mary said nothing about the dingy surroundings, instead hovering behind him so she may as well have been his shadow. Her hands were stuffed into her pockets again.

“You okay?” he asked over his shoulder, and she smiled at him in return.

“I seem like I’m not?”

His mouth flattened, unimpressed by her deflection. Still, he shrugged it off and made his way toward the stairs. Mary kept some distance between them now, self conscious of her own actions. Nines didn’t know what he could do to stop it.

“There’s not really any house rules.” he began as they started their ascent, footsteps ringing against the concrete. With each landing they passed a hallway much the same as the first floor was visible, apartment doors flanking it. “A few people here work nights, but they’re heavy sleepers. Make as much noise as you want. Come and go whenever you want, buy pay-per-view, whatever. Just don’t snoop. People here are private.”

Mary was breathing heavily behind them - they’d just reached the third floor landing. “Do I look like the type to snoop?” She smirked despite being out of breath, aware that the answer was _yes_.

The woman was a contradiction, fear and hesitation interweaving with odd moments of brazen honesty. Nines was growing to like her. “I wouldn’t blame you.” His tone grew sober with his next words, however - slowing his pace both to help her catch her breath and to impress the seriousness of his warning. “But it’s a bad idea. Good way to get shot.” Or worse.

Her smile slid off her face, and she nodded briefly. “Look, I’m not a narc. You’ve seen why I don’t mess with cops.” The tone she used was a bargaining one, and he winced.

They’d come to the fifth floor landing. Nines paused - here there was no hallway, only a single door. The stairs went up another floor - access to the roof, but he wasn’t about to tell Mary about it until she’d had a few nights to settle. He wasn’t entirely sure of where she was at. While her fear was obvious enough, heard in her heartbeat, any other emotions ran subtler in her. Despite the intense circumstances of their meeting, they were still strangers - and he was starting to get the idea that she was used to hiding things with a smile.

“I know.” His response was belated as he turned to look her in the eye, trying to catch her off guard. She matched his gaze easily. “You strike me as the type of person who’s been on the wrong side of the tracks.”

“You could say that.”

“Then you’re aware that knowledge can be dangerous.” Let her think he was part of some criminal enterprise. “I can’t vouch for you if you look for trouble.”

“I’m not going to ruin a good thing. I won’t snoop. Promise.”

“Don’t call it a good thing until you see the place.” Nines muttered, leaning over to pull open the door on the landing. He entered first, pawing at the wall to find the light switch. Mary followed behind.

The loft was rarely used. Its windows were large and while they were covered with blackout curtains it still set Kindred on edge to only have a curtain rod keeping them from their final death. Nines succeeded in his search, track lights on the ceiling coming to life with a dull _click_. They illuminated the space with unflattering dim yellow light. Mary’s face looked sunken in it, the gauntness in her cheeks and hollowness of her eyes exaggerated.

“It’s big.” she murmured, footsteps light against the weathered hardwood floor. She ran her fingertips along the brick wall, peering into the kitchen tucked under the loft above. Decades ago it may have been something to brag about, but now it was decrepit. Dust coated the countertops. Any distaste she may have had for the neglected space disappeared when her gaze settled on the massive curtains on the other side of the space. She walked past the two battered couches that made up the living room and pulled a curtain aside - only marginally, their weight considerable. “Hell of a view.”

“You can say it’s a shithole.” Nines called over from near the doorway, and the scowl she shot him tugged a smirk on his lips.

“You can see across the freeway from here. I like it.” she huffed. “Can I open the curtains?”

“If you can figure out how.” he shrugged.

Mary walked back to the twisting wrought iron stairs that led to the loft. They creaked as she ascended them - he kept track of where she was by her echoing footsteps. “Is this bed queen size?” She sounded positively delighted. There was a light _thud_ on the floor - he guessed she’d tossed her bag down at last. “I’m guessing this is the bathroom - ” A door opened. “ - the tub’s got feet?”

“It’s old fashioned.” He called in reply. Mary’s footsteps sounded quickly across the floor above, and she came into view leaning over the railing to squint at him.

“You heard that?”

Nines swallowed but kept his tone casual. “It’s a loft. Sound travels.”

“... I’ll keep that in mind.”

While she continued investigating her new quarters Nines approached the phone, sat neat on the kitchen counter. There was a pen and pad of paper next to it, and he began to scribble down numbers. “If you need anything right away, call the bar. I’ve got my own written down here too, but I can’t guarantee I won’t be busy.”

“Do you work nights too?” Mary’s voice sounded from within the small pantry.

“Lately, yeah.”

Mary withdrew from the pantry and rested her hip against one of the kitchen counters, facing him. “How long do I have?” Her hands were in her pockets again - an habit of insecurity, he was starting to realize.

“If I had my way, until you found some work and could pay for your own place. Unfortunately I don’t, so you have until our people need the place. Can’t say when. Could be a week, could be a month. Could be tomorrow.” The very concept made him wince.

“I won’t need that long. I’ll ring some shelters. They should be able to help me with the whole job thing.”

“Don’t know how much luck you’ll have there. A friend of mine said they’re full up. You should still try phoning around, just…”

“I shouldn’t get my hopes up.” Mary sighed. “Well. Things have been too neat so far, so I guess I’ll take that for an obstacle. Look - you’ve been nice, but I’m not just going to stay here and have a free ride. I got into this mess by relying on someone else. If I can’t find anywhere I’ll get out of your hair.”

“If it’s the free ride that bothers you, they could use some help next door. You’ll be paid under the table, though. Hope that’s not a deal breaker.”

“You’re not just saying that?”

“I don’t own the place. If I started making up job openings I’d be in trouble.” 

Mary stared at her feet for a few moments, considering his words. “I’m not a bartender.”

“You’ve seen the clientele. You think they give a shit about fancy cocktails? If you can pour a shot or draft you’ll be set.” 

“You _really_ want me to stick around, don’t you?” Her shoulders were tensed, and he could see her eyes darting over to the door behind him.

“I think pride is a stupid reason to be homeless. It’s not a free ride. Not even a favor - if you’re bad at it you’re out of a job, and if my people need this space you’ll be kicked out. It’s just good timing. Luck. You prefer that?”

“I’d prefer _none_ of this.” Mary suddenly exclaimed. “I’d prefer I wasn’t an idiot four years ago. I’d prefer that I never came here, and…”

“Hey.” Nines cut across her, but she was on the edge of hyperventilation. Against his better judgement he approached her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Mary.”

It shook her enough to snap her back to some sort of stability. She looked up at him miserably.

“Whatever happened wasn’t your fault. I don’t need to know the specifics for that. Everyone has their sins, doesn’t mean everyone has to suffer. If you don’t feel safe or comfortable here you can go, but don’t put yourself through hell just because you feel like you deserve it.” 

Mary stared at him in stunned silence. Maybe he’d said too much, but it was necessary - he’d seen the same story play out enough times. Nines didn’t intend on seeing a repeat. He lifted his hands from her shoulders quickly and put a fair distance between them once more.

“I’m sorry.” she mumbled at last, rubbing at her temple. “I’m just… exhausted.” She was embarrassed, he realized - unhappy to have let what dwelled under the surface into the light.

They had that much in common.

“No need.” Nines waved off her apology. “Sun’ll be up soon. You should get some sleep.” He stepped backward, letting his hand rest on the doorknob. 

Mary nodded weakly and took a few deep breaths to steady herself. She seemed thankful for the change of subject. “Yeah. I’ll see if I can. Got a busy day ahead of me.” She watched him open the door, but spoke again before he could leave. “Hey, uh… Nines?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Thanks. I appreciate it, even if it seems…” she stopped herself, exhaling a frustrated little sigh. “See you later?”

Nines put on his best smile. “I’ll try.”

After he’d shut the door behind him and started down the stairs, he heard muffled crying from behind. 

It was then he knew that Damsel would have a fight on her hands if she wanted to toss the human out any time soon.


	2. A Collection of Days

**December 10, 1999**

Alone.

The door had closed, all sound cutting out with it. All that remained was Mary, standing in the dim loft, and the world came crashing down upon her.

What had transpired in the past hours felt like a daydream. Adrenaline carried her forward even when her husband awoke and the shouting began, blurring time and recollection as only survival mattered. There was no turning back now. Perhaps she’d been blessed in coming across a good samaritan, but she couldn’t trust it. She couldn’t trust anyone. All she could do was keep up the act until she could scrape a life of her own together.

Mary wasn’t sure if she still could. She wasn’t sure if it’d be a life worth living. She was alone. For years she’d been told there’d never be anyone else, that no one could possibly understand what she’d done. The people that raised her despised her, and now they were dead. She was taken across the country to a city she never knew in the arms of a man who said he loved her - a city she’d seen more of in the past few hours than she had in half a year. It took months for her to come to terms with a lifetime of isolation, to accept it in trade for fleeing her cage. Months of keeping up a charade. She was so tired.

In her solitude she could let her mask down. She stumbled over to the couch and sat heavily upon it, finally letting her levies burst.

Mary wept. She wept in fear, wondering if her misery was far from over. Wept in relief, for could anything have been worse from where she came from? Most of all, she wept for the girl she’d been - before everything, when the world stretched out before her and she had all the confidence in the world that she could fly. When all she had to do was leave home, run away, and life would be wonderful. There were lost years to be mourned, and she’d spent so long bottling them up that she didn’t know if the tears would ever stop.

Yet they did, at some point, for the next time she was aware of her surroundings she was on her back on the couch. A single strip of sunlight shining through the curtains crossed her face.

A new dawn.

She sat up and glanced at the oven’s digital clock. Noon. Mary couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so late - out of habit her stomach twisted in dread. Yet there was no punishment. Only silence. 

Her head throbbed when she stood, and the walk to the kitchen felt surreal. The dishware was as dusty as the rest of the place and she sneezed taking down a glass, but the water from the tap was as pure as anything else she’d tasted. Invigorated, she searched for a way to open the curtains properly and found a sort of pulley system that reminded her of high school theatre. She gave a rope a tug and the loft was flooded with light.

The street outside looked plainer in the daylight - grey and brown. Smog shrouded the distance, and there was no multicolor kaleidoscope of lights to greet her like the night previous. Everything was blurred by the layer of dirt on the window, but she was thankful for how it softened the harsh noon light. One of the windows was smaller and had a latch - beyond she could see a fire escape.

One escape route, if she needed it.

Mary wondered why such a feature had been veiled. Whatever went down on this block was beyond the law, that much she’d figured. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, but she wasn’t about to let her guard down. Even Nines had made it plain that the less she knew the better.

Nines.

If it wasn’t for the motorcycle she could see still resting at the curb, she’d have thought the man was a hallucination. When she tried to think of him the edges of her mind’s eye blurred. He’d shown her kindness, but at what cost? In her experience nothing was ever free.

She planned to pay on her own terms this time.

Mary padded over to the door of the apartment - at some point in her sleep she’d kicked off her sneakers, and she didn’t care to put them back on. She opened it as quietly as she could and slipped down the stairs, disregarding Nines’ statement about the residents’ heavy sleep. True enough, the building was silent - but more than anything she didn’t want to have to make small talk with a stranger. Not yet.

At the ground floor a clear plastic bag full of newspapers was tossed against the wall under the row of mailboxes. Despite the late hour it was unopened, untouched - whoever occupied the other rooms had left too early or still slept. Mary wondered what room Nines had settled in. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to avoid it or wanted to know so she could visit. 

Either way, one paper wouldn’t be missed. She tore the bag open with her fingers, grabbed a rolled bundle, and slipped back upstairs.

The next several hours were spent trying to figure out what she was going to do with her life. A thick and dusty phonebook (was there anything in the loft that wasn’t covered in dust?) was consulted to find the local shelters, phone numbers written down. Job postings in the paper were circled for later - Mary didn’t know where to start for her resume, but knowing her options couldn’t hurt. Then the part she dreaded most - phone calls. She wasn’t sure what was worse, waiting on hold with her heart in her throat or being told just how long wait times were. The sunlight pouring in shifted angle with every new voice in her ear. Her pad of paper was filled with time frames and other numbers to call, alternate contacts to plead with. As the sun set, Mary finished her call with the last and finally accepted that all had the same answer for her.

No room at the inn until after the New Year. Nines and his friend were correct. Mary wondered how many others he had told about her - though a friend of his being up to date on matters concerning the vulnerable soothed her, in an odd way. Maybe everything was a Robin Hood operation. She’d put trafficking out of the realm of possibility - the place was too barren for that, the people too private. There were no displays of wealth or luxury, no veneer of prestige that high end dealers and suppliers tended to garb themselves in. While her surroundings weren’t the best, they were still far too well kept for things to be a low end operation. If she had to use a word, she’d call the place _honest_ \- it was exactly what one would expect from this part of town. Whatever was done by Nines and his ‘friends’, Mary believed she wasn’t in danger. For the moment.

Still, her skin itched. Being at the mercy of another was familiar, but it was that familiarity that she’d fled from. For distraction she looked to the window - the last dredges of pink were fading from the sky. Somehow she felt more awake than ever.

Mary was suddenly aware of her own state, the layer of sweat and dried tears on her skin palpable - perhaps it was the reason for the itch of her skin, rather than her worries about her new situation. She ran a bath, removing the knife from the pocket of her hoodie and setting it down near the soap holster. Her eyes closed to the fading bruises on her body, and she let the warm water wash her clean.

It was tempting to try and stay there forever, but eventually the water went cold - and the sound of a revving motorcycle carried from below.

Hastily she pulled the plug from the tub and wrapped a towel around her body, dashing over to the window. Nines’ motorcycle had disappeared from the curb.

He didn’t return for two nights.

**December 11**

A gas station employee walked down the narrow alley, garbage bags in hand. In the patch of darkness between the back door of the building and the dumpster in the parking lot beyond the alley, Nines waited.

When his teeth sunk into their neck and hot blood poured down his throat, he knew what he’d done the night before couldn’t unwrite his sins.

**December 12**

Time was of the essence. Even before she caught a bus to the library and typed and photocopied her resume she’d bitten the bullet and asked at the bar next door for employment. The bartender (a large man named Sal) had barely waited for her to ask if there was a position open before tossing a rag at her and telling her to polish glasses. Mary took to cleaning the place - people were rare enough that she had little to do in regard to serving customers. Instead she waged war on the filth that had accumulated over what had to have been years of neglect. She had no idea how they weren’t shut down by the health inspector. Nines was correct in that somehow the blaring metal music became white noise after long enough, though she knew her ears would be ringing for hours after her shift. She didn’t know why the music had to be so loud - the bar only ever had a few customers that came to drink and stay silent. The only food present in the storeroom were bags of chips and pretzels a few months past their expiry, though the shelves were stacked with cardboard boxes and small crates. She didn’t dare look inside.

True to Nines’ word, Sal handed her five ten-dollar bills at the end of the night. They’d done less in sales - though she didn’t complain or question it. By all rights the place shouldn’t have been able to stay open. Mary knew a front when she saw one.

Not that she’d learn much about it even if she wanted to. Sal let her do as she pleased once he knew she wasn’t about to pry into whatever business was going on, but otherwise said nothing to her. Usually he sat near the register with a pint of his own puzzling over the paper or watching sports on the bar’s tiny television. Any question of hers was answered with a nod, a shake of the head, or a point of the finger - and they were few.

On her second night working she heard the approaching sound of a motorcycle, and Sal’s demeanor changed. He turned off the television set. Mary couldn’t help but perk up - she’d been partway through giving the tabletops a good scrub down. 

“Get over here.” Sal spoke to her for the first time since she’d been hired - and she scurried back behind the bar.

The engine drew closer, then cut out. Soon after the door swung open, and Nines Rodriguez entered.

Mary opened her mouth to greet him, but a nudge from Sal kept her silent. Nines looked worn down - there were dark circles under his eyes and misery was etched on his face. Even so, he still held a strange kind of poise - he reminded her of carved marble statues, oddly dignified no matter their surroundings or caked on dirt. His brows raised when he met her gaze, and she offered him a nervous little smile. Nines simply nodded before heading upstairs.

“Second floor’s off limits when he’s here.” Sal’s voice rumbled from her right. He settled down into his stool by the register, back rigid. There was a shotgun under the counter in front of him.

“Okay.” The back of her neck prickled, eyes drawn to the ceiling. Whoever Nines was, he was important.

She burned away her nerves by continuing her cleaning spree, the progress she made over the next few hours soothing. As long as she kept her head down and didn’t get involved with whatever was happening, she’d make enough money to keep her afloat until a job offer called in. It wasn’t the kind of job she’d put on her resume, miserably short as it was.

The thought made her chuckle as she ran a cloth along the store room shelves, clearing them of dust. A familiar voice spoke from behind her.

“Must be bored if you’re giggling at dust.”

Mary whirled around to see Nines leaning against the wall. He was smiling - it warmed his ragged features considerably. 

“I was thinking of something stupid.” she replied, the cloth now hanging limply in her hand. There was a moment’s silence, before she blurted; “I didn’t know you’re my boss.” The moment the words left her lips she mentally chastised herself. So much for keeping her head down.

“I’m really not.” He pushed off the wall with his shoulder and let his crossed arms fall to his sides. “I just have meetings upstairs from time to time.”

Mary desperately wanted to ask what kind of meetings - she hadn’t seen anyone else enter the bar. Nines looked like he was expecting the question, but she said nothing. Instead she awkwardly shifted her weight from foot to foot.

“I didn’t mean to leave you hanging.” He broke the silence first, changing the subject. “Something… big came up.” Wearily he scrubbed his hand over his face, palm scratching his stubble.

“Is everything okay?” Mary ventured, and she could have sworn Nines looked _touched_.

“No.” She’d been honest with him, and he returned the favor. “Rough night.” He shook his head dismissively. “Don’t worry about me, though. How’s progress?”

“Handed out a few copies of my resume yesterday - I would have gotten around to more, but I spent half the day figuring out how the bus system works. Nobody’s called me back yet, but it hasn’t been that long.” Mary wrung her hands - it’s what she told herself, knowing that the gap in her work history didn’t speak well for her. The few jobs she’d worked weren’t glamorous, and while she took every extracurricular she could in high school that was where her education ended.

“If you can get your foot in the door you’ll be hired.” Nines reassured her. Mary blinked at him, stunned by the unexpected praise.

The two of them fell into silence that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. 

It was her turn to break it. “Do… do you want to visit when my shift ends?” she stammered. “I’ve got pizza money, and _Dawn of the Dead_ ’son TV tonight.”

His response was swift. “I ate before I came here.” Mary was surprised to find herself disappointed by the answer. Nines was not finished speaking, however. “But I can hang around for a few before I’ve got to go.”

“Okay.” she grinned, feeling a little like she was a teenager again and had just successfully talked to one of the cool kids. The realization flustered her, and she blushed, hastily turning back to dust the shelves to hide it. “I’m off at midnight.”

“See you in an hour.” Nines’ voice didn’t entirely sound like his own, and his footsteps quickly retreated.

True to his word, he was leaning against his bike outside when she clocked out. Half an hour later they sat in the loft - Mary sitting upright on one couch with an open pizza box in front of her, taking her first bites of pepperoni in what felt like forever; Nines lying down on the other with his attention fixed on the television set.

“I’m surprised you can eat while watching this.” he observed, as a man on screen had his head blown open by a shotgun.

“To these special effects?” Mary spoke around a mouthful of pizza crust. She leaned over to sip from her soda bottle. “Does that look like real blood to you?”

“No.” Nines stretched, and she found herself distracted from the movie momentarily. He’d only crossed his arms behind his head - and as if sensing her attention, he looked at her from the corner of his eye. “That was a real shotgun blast, though.”

“But not a real head.”

“Nah.”

“Have you ever shot a shotgun?”

Nines tilted his head toward her properly. “Yeah.” he admitted quietly, looking almost nervous about the admission. Hastily he added; “I prefer pistols, but against zombies nothing else gets the job done like a shotgun.”

Mary snickered at the joke, but felt oddly touched that he was trying not to scare her. It’d been a while since anyone gave a shit about her feelings. “You don’t have to treat it like a secret. Wrong side of the tracks, remember?” She took another few bites of pizza before speaking again. “I’m not really squeamish. I grew up in Detroit. Murder capital of the world. Not really something you can stick on a t-shirt.”

An expression akin to horror passed over his features. “Detroit? Shit.” he muttered, turning back to stare straight ahead. In the faint light of the television set the sharpness of his cheekbones was accentuated, the furrow in his brow stark. “How’d you get over here?”

“Got married. Anything seemed better than staying there.” The memory made her lose her appetite, and she returned her half eaten slice to the box and folded her legs on the couch. “Pretty stupid of me, in hindsight.”

“I don’t blame you.” Nines didn’t turn to face her. “LA’s got it’s problems, but Detroit…” he trailed off. “Have you been doing alright? Here, I mean. I’m sorry I didn’t have the time to ask - if you need anything-”

“It’s only been a couple days. I’ve got money now.” she shrugged. “Things are as good as I can expect, no one’s bothered me. This place is pretty quiet.”

Nines hummed in acknowledgement. They returned to watching the movie - only when the protagonists were looting a gun store did he speak again.

“Have you ever shot a gun?”

Mary’s mouth went dry. “Only the one time.” It was the truth - but anything more than that and she was likely to scare _him_ off. “I know my way around a knife, though.”

He chuckled again. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

Mary sighed, nudging the pizza box closer to him. “You sure you aren’t hungry? I don’t mind if you have a few slices. If you don’t I’ll probably eat the whole thing.”

Nines peered her way. “You always talk through movies?”

“If I barely know who I’m watching them with. Besides, you started it.”

“So the movie thing was an excuse to interrogate me.” he teased. Mary found she liked this side of him - the last time they’d spoken he seemed mostly serious, and even earlier it was clear he was troubled. Now he was almost _playful_. 

“Maybe. Do you mind?”

It was enough for her to feel comfortable around him - he already projected a strange sort of calm, but now she had some evidence to back it up. They both knew their way around the streets, and both held enough respect for the other not to delve too deep on the subject.

He considered her for a moment before replying. “No.”

The movie seemed shorter than she remembered, ending all too quickly. The programming turned to televised shopping and Nines stood.

“I gotta go.” His tone was apologetic, and he looked as if he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands.

“Yeah, of course-” Mary hadn’t forgotten his limited time, but felt caught off guard nevertheless. Remembering her manners, she escorted him to the door and leaned against the wall while he pulled his shoes on. “Sorry for the interrogation. And talking through the movie.”

“It’s my third time seeing it.” he smirked. “First time was in the theatre. The effects were a little scarier back then.”

Mary gawked at him. The film came out in the late 70s, or so she thought - he’d have been awfully young. Or he just looked a decade younger than he was - or maybe a private theatre had a showing in recent years. She realized she was staring at him and quickly looked down at her feet. “I bet. I guess I’ll see you around?”

His hand lingered on the doorknob, the exhaustion in his face returning. “Hope so.” 

Her gaze remained fixed on the door for a minute after he left, listening to his footsteps descend the stairs.

**December 15**

The Camarilla were installing a Prince in Los Angeles.

Even Nines had to admit it was a cunning move, underhanded as it was. The Camarilla had taken hold of their threads of power, severed by the Anarchs decades ago. They’d taken advantage while he and his people licked their wounds, and they were too weak to resist.

The first rumors he’d heard shortly after Mary’s arrival, and Nines found himself growing increasingly thankful for her presence. He needed the distraction, as guilty as he felt for it - every night carried with it more bad news. Tremere arriving in the city. Younger Anarchs leaving for parts of California where the war was still on, seeking ways to sate their thirst for revenge. At least open conflict hadn’t yet broken out, though he knew many of his comrades wished for it - though they didn’t lack passion, they simply didn’t have the numbers.

His evenings were spent in the Last Round or other anarch Elysiums, listening to Kindred shout at each other and murmur threats. Nines spent the night of the 15th listening to Damsel rage - she was shouting louder than he’d ever heard, the young Gangrel that had given them confirmation of the Camarilla’s plans looking as if she’d prefer to be anywhere but there.

Their peace only lasted five days.

“We put our asses on the line and bleed for this fucking city and they think they can just walk in? They haven’t earned _shit_!” Damsel yelled loudly enough to be heard over the music. “I’m going to shove my shotgun so far down that asshole’s throat he’ll be-”

Skelter shot a glare her way. “Keep your voice down. I’m as pissed as you are, but letting every kine on the block know isn’t going to help us.”

“What the hell _is_ going to help us?” Damsel spun to scowl at him. “Everyone’s fucked off and left us to deal with this shithole on our own.” she growled. “I’m out of here before I kill somebody.” She stormed down the stairs before anyone could throw out an arm to stop her - not that anyone did.

Tempers were too high to plan anything - Nines rubbed at his temples, wishing he could rage and run as Damsel did. He couldn’t afford to. All emotion was caged for a later time, to be opened when the war drums sounded. 

“I’m going to let Isaac know.” A night drive would do him some good - and the self-styled Baron of Hollywood was an asset they couldn’t afford to lose. Nines himself breaking the news would, he hoped, flatter the Toreador enough to keep him from withdrawing support when the odds were piling up against them.

“Be careful out there, man.” Skelter called over his shoulder, turning his attention to their Gangrel informant.

Mary looked a shade paler than usual when Nines came downstairs. “I heard shouting, and a lady came through looking like she was going to kill someone. You okay?”

He’d meant to walk out without giving her a second glance, but the fact that she’d heard Damsel’s tirade filled him with dread. Nines kept a straight face and kept his tone casual, not letting his mind wander down the path he’d be forced to take if she’d been eavesdropping. “You heard all that?”

The guise worked - Mary looked less concerned and smiled sheepishly. “Over this music? For a second I thought it was just part of the track since I couldn’t make out the words, but it sounded like that lady was pretty pissed off.”

Nines couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah. That’s Damsel for you. I’m fine - can’t say the same for the people she’s angry at.” He fished the keys to his bike out of his pocket. “I’ve got to run a few errands.” 

Why he told her was a mystery to him. Her feelings should have been beyond him, but the few brushes he’d had with her left him feeling as if the ground under his feet had stabilized. Mary’s world was a galaxy away from his, and to enter it for even a moment was a welcome escape. Nines wasn’t sure if it was Mary herself or the blood running hot through her veins that drew him to her - and that uncertainty roused the strain of self hate that coiled around him, threaded into his curse. Of course he was drawn to her - if he let himself he’d drink her blood until she went limp. Any interest of hers made sense for the same reason - his species was meant to lure hers. Nines knew it - and yet he was standing in front of her as if waiting for her to answer.

“Hey, um - if you’re heading out, could you do me a favor?” Mary knelt behind the bar counter and took out a sheet of paper. She slid it across the counter toward him. “I need more copies but the buses stop running by the time my shift’s over. If something’s on your way. I’ll pay you back.”

Nines took the sheet of paper, scanning it. It was her resume, high school listed alongside a job at a coffee shop and one at a sandwich place. Her work history was blank for the past four years - but what drew his eye were her list of skills, _coding_ being among them.

“You know computers?” he inquired, looking up at her. Every bit of new information he discovered about her was interesting - though growing up in the Sabbat stronghold city of Detroit and coming out of it in one piece was going to be hard to top.

“I didn’t have many friends in high school.” she admitted sheepishly. “Took a lot of extracurriculars and dicked around in the computer lab. Changed my chemistry grade from a B to an A so I wouldn’t get beat, and then I fell down the rabbit hole. Wish it was as cool as the _Matrix_ made it look.”

“Don’t think I’ve seen that one.” Nines folded the paper neatly and slid it into his pocket. He wasn’t entirely sure if he could figure out how to use a copier if he found one - but he’d give it a try. A lighter task to distract from whatever potential unpleasantness a meeting with Isaac held.

“Seriously? Even I have, and I -” Mary stopped herself and gave her head a shake. “- nevermind. You should pick it up at Blockbuster sometime.” Her smile quivered a little, as if surprised he’d lingered so long. “Anyways, I shouldn’t keep you. Thanks.”

An hour later he sat in the polar opposite of the Last Round. Isaac Abrams’ office was elegant and clean in all the ways the Last Round was rough and battered - the office of a Baron. Nines felt out of place among the luxury that surrounded him - the Baron sat across from him behind a polished redwood desk carved from a single tree trunk. Black and white photographs hung from the walls in gilded frames, on wallpaper that might have been threaded with gold leaf. If it was anyone else Nines might have felt some disdain at the flagrant display of wealth - but Isaac had proven himself someone to respect.

The room was dim, lit only by a lamp on the desk.

Isaac’s head was bent in thought, his fingers steepled. He was in his usual attire, a clean suit and shining black shoes, his hair smoothed back. The man was timeless, embodying the image of old Hollywood glamour. 

“I know why you’re here.” Isaac began. “You’re not the first to visit my office tonight.”

Nines swallowed. He was a young pup compared to Isaac - his rise among the Anarchs was recent, his position gained by the departure of another. Abrams had been a notable figure for decades, and his grip on his barony was strong. “Who’d I miss?”

“A tremere by the name of Maximilian Strauss. He asked me if I would vouch for the Toreador in this city.”

A cold sensation spread through Nines, starting at his fingertips and moving upward. Isaac had been offered the position of a primogen - no small honor among the Camarilla, and something that could compete with the title of Anarch Baron in a city where Anarch influence was weakening. “What was your answer?”

Isaac smiled. “I respectfully declined. I don’t intend to hand Hollywood over to an upstart Prince who’s never seen her in his life.” Relief washed over Nines - for all the annoyances he held with the Toreador, their sentimentality made for intense loyalties. “How is Downtown handling the news?”

“Not well.” Nines said. “But we’re not letting them take the city without a fight.”

“We all knew this night was coming.” Isaac agreed. “If I may give some advice…”

Nines inclined his head, granting permission.

“... keep a cool mind. I’m certain the cries for blood have already begun, but in our current state we’ll have to take notes from the Camarilla’s way of doing things. I don’t envy your position - I work backstage for a reason. To be a figurehead is taxing on the soul. If you need guidance…”

“Thank you.” Nines dipped his chin. “We’ll need your experience.”

“I hope it will be of some use. My thanks for coming to me personally about this matter.” Isaac stood from his desk, and Nines followed. “I believe we both have business to attend to.”

Nines nodded in agreement. “You wouldn’t happen to have a copier around?”

Isaac raised a brow. “There should be one in the offices beyond.” He gestured at the office’s other door, the one Nines had not entered through. “Turn the lights off when you’re done.”

“Thanks.”

Nines felt sapped as he idled at a red light half an hour later, his motorbike rumbling beneath him like a hungry beast. It seemed an apt metaphor for his current state. It was as if everyone had turned their eyes to him - as Isaac had said, he was a figurehead now - and all were waiting for him to give the green light. He wasn’t better than any of them, he knew what anyone else would be able to learn, and yet he’d been placed on a pedestal. A small part of him wanted to run - the Kuei-Jin had been a common enemy to rally against, but the Camarilla were insidious. Politicking wasn’t his realm of expertise. Would he make things worse, rather than better?

He glanced down at the saddlebag of his bike, stuffed with copied papers. Maybe it was overkill, but the minutes of standing next to the photocopier with mechanical noise to blot out his thoughts were precious. Mary might get a laugh out of it - she’d certainly get a laugh out of his story of trying to figure out how the damn thing worked. When he looked up his gaze settled on a flickering OPEN sign in the window of a Chinese restaurant across the street.

An hour later, Nines knocked on the door to Mary’s loft (it wasn’t hers, not really, but he couldn’t help thinking of it that way) with a box of takeout and a rented copy of _The Matrix_ in hand. The surprised smile on her face when he opened the door made the night feel a little less dark.

**December 17**

Mary found herself less anxious with each passing night - she was beginning to think of her loft as home. It didn’t stop her from sleeping with her knife under her pillow, but she stopped jumping at every little noise. As she crossed off another day from the bar calendar, she realized it’d been a week since she’d fled her old life.

It felt like seven years, rather than seven days.

She’d caught sight of the woman called Damsel for the second time that night - the first time Mary heard her name she fancifully wondered if Nines’ mysterious work had to do with spying. Nines, Damsel - it was something out of code. The woman’s bright red hair seemed fitting from what Mary knew of her, as if her temper had tinted the strands.

Mary had made up her mind to try and chat with Damsel before the woman left. When she took the latest bag of garbage to the dumpster out back, she could have _sworn_ she saw a figure slip out of the second story window. When Mary made her rounds through the bar before closing for the night she found the place empty save for her and Sal.

Whatever went on upstairs was something she wasn’t supposed to see. Instead of fear all she felt was burning curiosity - all she wanted was to _know_ , she had no desire to participate in whatever it was. Spying, smuggling, the mob, domestic terrorism - there was a world of possiblities, but none she could think of quite matched the impression she’d gotten of the people in Nines’ world that she’d seen.

The man from the first night who watched her, dark skinned and with eyes that seemed to know everything - while intimidating he didn’t seem cruel. Damsel could have been a girl she went to high school with or even a little younger, with her Che Guevera t-shirt and dyed hair.

Nines… Nines was unlike anyone she’d ever met. He was on the wrong side of the law, held power in whatever was happening, and wore a thin gold chain that suggested he was a common thug - but he spoke softly and held a quiet confidence about him. The previous night he’d visited her again looking more exhausted than ever, and they’d both settled in to watch a western marathon on the television. He’d mentioned growing up on a farm - something she’d never have guessed. Mary never knew what to expect from him. Most puzzling above all, he felt _safe_ \- the only man she’d met who she could assign the word to.

The activities that went down in the Last Round couldn’t be wrong, in Mary’s mind. Illegal and dangerous, definitely, but she’d had her share of that in her life. Why was Nines so worried about her?

Maybe he didn’t trust her.

That was a sobering thought, and one that pricked at the back of her mind as she closed the bar for the night. Nines didn’t have any reason to trust her - she’d forced her presence on him, maybe he’d felt manipulated. Her worries plagued her even after she’d kicked off her shoes and settled in on her couch for the night.

For the third night in a row a knock came at her door, and her worries flew away. To her delight she opened it to see Nines before her once again, tired as ever.

“I don’t mean to impose.” he said, lingering on the landing. 

She threw her door open and laughed at the idea. “I’m the one squatting here.”

Nines frowned at her. “If you’ve been doing this because you think you owe me-”

“You’re the first friend I’ve had in years.” Mary replied, speaking before her mind could properly catch up with the words. _Friend._ They’d been friendly, she enjoyed his company, he was funny when he wanted to be and seemed genuinely interested in her life. Friend was the right word to use, but part of her felt hesitant. They weren’t _good_ friends, and they knew little about each other. Somehow, though, that didn’t seem to matter. She cleared her throat. “Besides, it’s not like anything fun’s open at this hour.”

At least Nines didn’t seem to mind it - the lines around his eyes softened. “Glad to know I’m a last resort.” he teased, following her inside.

**December 21**

Nines thought of her when his teeth punctured a blood packet.

He was being stupid, but circumstances made it difficult to stop. Each visit with Mary was wondrously mundane and grounded him - he left them with a clearer mind every time. Sometimes his time was too short, their exchanges hasty by the bar - a few jokes from him, words of encouragement from her. He’d ask about how her job search was going, felt conflicted when she’d told him of call backs and subsequent rejections. Nines’ hopes soared with hers, he felt her excitement, but there was a bittersweet tinge to it all.

She’d called him a friend - put a word to the comfortable happiness they found in the others’ company. Nines was glad she was still capable of it alongside her natural caution, but he knew the moment she found work and housing elsewhere he had to disappear from her life. Friendship made that more complicated - he should have kept his distance from the start. 

It’d be easier if he had anyone else to scold him, to shake him from what felt like a stress induced delusion.

Yet no one gave it a second glance - no one really seemed to notice, greater matters at hand than him spending a couple of hours or less talking with a human each night. The only effect that his comrades noted was his renewed energy. Each night he’d returned to the planning table refreshed, seeing new approaches to the Anarchs’ problems. Contacts were made, favors earned - it was closer to the Camarilla’s way of doing things than he liked, but their usual straightforward avenues were closed to them. Isaac was right - it was the best course of action. It wasn’t a game they’d beat the Camarilla at, but if it bought enough time and brought enough Kindred to their cause they wouldn’t have to keep it up for long. 

One night Mary had waved him off from her loft, citing exhaustion. It was something he’d dreaded - something that didn’t happen on his own terms, something that could rouse the Beast that slept within him, as it did with all vampires. Yet turning away was simple. He walked back downstairs feeling only a pride in himself and a slight thrill, as if he’d outsmarted the curse of the ages. He felt fine. The warnings of possessiveness, of how the curse of Caine made it impossible to see humans as anything more than cattle or puppets to manipulate - they proved false. Mary was her own person. When it came time for them to part, he’d be fine and she’d be safe.

Still, he wondered if the niche her friendship had carved into his life would ever fill again - or if it’d remain a hole among so many others, lost to time. 

**December 22**

Mary awoke to the phone ringing. She rolled over to look at her digital clock, still half-asleep. 10 AM. It was early, for her new life - but when she realized what noise had awoken her she snapped to stark consciousness. She nearly tripped in her scramble to reach the phone before the call went to voicemail.

A woman’s voice was on the other end, telling her someone had passed Mary’s resume along to an information tech startup. It took all of Mary’s power to keep her voice from quivering and her hands steady as she took down the address for an interview and skill test later that day.

She squealed with joy after she hung up the phone, skipping over to the window and looking out at the city before her. An _interview_ , at last - she’d catch the bus, show up at the place, and her life would change. The sun couldn’t set fast enough - Nines believed that if she made it to the interview there was no way she wouldn’t get a job - and if he was right, she couldn’t wait to tell him.

Or could she? Suddenly Mary gave the thought pause.

As unwelcome as the matters that brought her to the loft were, she had to admit she liked where her life was. Her living quarters weren’t the cleanest, or best, but they were hers. She had a job that wasn’t terrible and sometimes exciting - and a friend to talk to and enjoy her time off with. Any one was an impossible dream for her only a couple of weeks ago, but now she had all three. She’d just started to enjoy things, her fear ebbing away - and now she had her most promising offer yet. The reality of change if she succeeded in her pursuits settled over her.

Until recently change in her life brought misery - Mary was still conditioned to expect the worst. She was happy where she was and happiness had been so _rare_ that the unknown frightened her. Not to mention that if she got the job she’d be on day shift - visiting Nines would be difficult, even without the strange mystery that was his line of work.

Mary pressed her palms against the dirty glass, feeling the sun's warmth through it. Things were different than they had been. It was her choice to make on her own, influenced by no one. Resting her forehead against the glass, she closed her eyes and silenced her doubts, spoken in a voice she intended to erase from memory.

She’d been able to run. She’d spent her nights working and her days hitting the pavement seeking employment wherever she could. Mary was building her life by her own desires and succeeding at it.

She’d make it work.

**December 24**

Her first Christmas after. The day snuck up on her - the Last Round wasn’t exactly the most festive place, and the corner of downtown it sat in wasn’t the type of place to be decorated. Mary had grown up with snow, associating the holiday season with white streets and frosty windows - in California’s warmth time seemed to hover in a permanent summer. Only when Sal told her she had time off until the second of January did she realize the occasion. She didn’t know if she’d still be around by the time the day came.

The interview had been a success, and she had the job once the holidays were over with. Between what she’d earned working at the Last Round and what she was sure her ring would fetch for, she had enough for first month’s rent and a damage deposit. Moving was necessary - she couldn’t bus to work, and had stepped on the hospitality of Nines and his friends for too long.

Mary drew snowflakes in the dirt on the window, watching the sun set beyond. Anxiety nibbled at her, and tracing elegant shapes on the glass was soothing. Nines hadn’t shown up at all the previous night and didn’t answer his phone when she rang it to tell him the good news. In her mind she wanted to take him out to dinner somewhere for the occasion - he never ate around her, and from how tired he always looked she wondered if he was eating properly at all. 

After watching the sunset she flopped down on her couch and flipped channels for what felt like hours. Somewhere through the third showing of _It’s A Wonderful Life_ that night, she fell asleep on the couch.

**December 31**

The last days of the millennium drew to a close, and Nines spent his nights putting out fires.

Los Angeles’ pretender Prince had come, and now had a name.

Sebastian LaCroix. Isaac knew he was Ventrue (of course) and had proved himself on the east coast - beyond that, information was still forthcoming. With the Camarilla back on the scene the local Nosferatu were tactfully tight-lipped, waiting to see which way the coin would fall in the crucial first nights.

With LaCroix’s arrival what small pockets of Camarilla loyalists were in the city made themselves known. It fired up the younger Anarchs, and the nights were filled with violence. Few deaths - the scraps were small, posturing more than anything. If it wasn’t for Nines’ efforts things may have gotten worse. He travelled from East LA to Santa Monica, visiting whatever Anarch groups still stood and doing his best to convince them to reign in their anger for a later time. He had a talent with people, and in the same way he gained Mary’s trust so too did he gain sympathy for his cause.

Nines missed her - missed hearing her talk about whatever so-bad-it’s-good daytime talk show episode she’d seen that day, missed the way she peered at him when she put on a movie he’d never seen, watching for his reaction as if she cared about his opinion. More than anything, he missed being able to step outside of the role that had been placed upon him and just _be_. It helped him recall better times.

As New Year’s Eve approached, he knew he’d have to say farewell to them. His scarce years among humanity, the early nights when the Free States were at their peak - they would be part of another century. The future spanned before him.

On the last day of the year, the last day of the century, the last day of the millennium, he finally managed a few hours of freedom - a carefully scheduled break in negotiations and beatdowns. Nines took off from his haven as soon as the sky went dark, sped along the freeway dozens of miles over the speed limit, wove in between traffic. There was one person he knew would understand his feelings, who wouldn’t dismiss the strange sentiment he had for the day - and he knew where to get the best view of the celebrating city. He just had to get there before midnight.

If he still had to breathe he’d have been panting by the time he reached Mary’s door. He knocked - and found no response.

It wasn’t the first time he found she wasn’t home - she had her own life, after all - but on this night in particular he was crestfallen. Perhaps it was foolish to think he’d celebrate in anything but isolation - there were things of so much more importance going on and he lacked the sense to deal with them - even Damsel and Skelter were working, while he stood on a human’s doorstep as if he was anything but what he was. The life of a Kindred _was_ isolation - with each passing year his ability to connect with others dwindled, and making one mistake with who he chose to trust would spell his end. The same thing that had him waiting on Mary’s doorstep seeking a friend as an era ended was what made such a friendship untenable.

Nines only wanted to be carried with it while it lasted. 

The door cracked open just as he was about to turn to leave. He saw half of Mary’s face peek through, and then it was thrown wide and her arms were around him in a tight hug.

“I thought something happened to you.” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. Thankfully she withdrew only a few moments later - he hadn’t been prepared for the sudden contact. “Jesus, you’re cold - are you-”

“I’m fine.” he answered, somewhat dazed by her reaction. “I - I’m sorry, things have been busy.”

“Shit timing for it.” Mary placed her hands on her hips and studied him. “I’ve had the week off, been bored out of my mind. Everything’s closed for the holidays. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, by the way.”

Nines rubbed the back of his neck. “I should have called.”

Mary’s expression softened. “I almost forgot about it too. I’m just happy you’re still alive.”

Still alive. He grinned at that, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Mary was right to assume his work was dangerous - but he didn’t want to think on how close she edged to the truth. They stood across from each other in silence for a few moments before he spoke again.

“Do you want to see the fireworks?”

She bit her lip, looking torn. “I don’t like crowds.” she confessed. “So if you mean that party at the stadium-”

Nines shook his head. “I don’t like them either. Nothing like that. I just happen to know how to get to the roof of one of the skyscrapers here. You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

Relief flooded her features. “ ‘Course not.” Mary grabbed her hoodie from where it hung by the door and tugged it on before stepping through the threshold. “How much time do we have?”

“Half an hour.” His reply nearly made her drop her keys as she locked the door. “Don’t worry.” he added. “It’s not far, and there’s an elevator.”

Nines descended the stairs, and Mary slid down the handrails behind him. She practically skipped to his bike, grabbing the helmet and taking her seat on the back as if she belonged there.

For a moment he wished she did - and resented himself for it.

They took off through downtown’s narrow alleys, the roar of the motorbike echoing off the walls of various buildings. Mary wasn’t clinging to him like she had their first ride. Instead she was looking around as curious as ever, taking note of their route. He pulled into an underground parking garage, jumping the curb to avoid the toll gate.

Mary didn’t speak until after he’d parked - the garage was nearly barren after-hours. “I didn’t think you were a toll bandit this whole time.”

Nines rolled his eyes and walked to the garage elevator. Mary had to take two strides for every one of his. “I thought you wouldn’t mind a petty crime spree.” he replied. “If that’s a problem I can drop you back off.”

“Spree?” she was short of breath, catching up while he pressed the elevator’s call button. “What else are we doing?”

“Trespassing.” he spoke under his breath - in the distance he could hear premature fireworks going off. “Breaking and entering. We could throw some vandalism in too, if you really feel like it.”

“What even is this place?”

“Your run of the mill office building. I’ve been here for work a few times.” One of Isaac’s ghouls was a desk jockey in the complex, and after-hours meetings within offered much more subtlety than Nines driving up to the man’s doorstep.

Mary grinned at him, the elevator doors sliding open with a light _ding_. “I’m trying to imagine you in a cubicle farm.” she teased, stepping in first. “Imagining you on a real farm was weird enough.”

Nines followed her inside and jammed his thumb into the button for the highest floor available. “Believe me, I can barely imagine it anymore.” he murmured with more sadness in his tone than he’d intended. The doors slid closed and the elevator shuddered, beginning its long ascent.

“Do you miss it?” she asked, resting her hip against the elevator wall. They’d dodged most personal questions so far - he wondered what had her so willing to cross the line they’d drawn.

He found he didn’t mind it. “In some ways. City life’s wearing on me.” he admitted. “We were very poor, I don’t miss that, but things were happier then. But I was a kid. Maybe everything seems better when you’re a kid - or you just want to be anywhere but where you’ve ended up.”

“Mm.” Mary hummed in agreement. “... why don’t you go back? Move out to Arizona or Texas or something?”

Nines laughed at how simple the solution seemed to her. “Would if I could, kid.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but the elevator stilled, their destination reached.

The two of them exited the elevator into a wide hallway - the floor was marble or some facsimile of it, doors flanking the hall wide and mahogany. A floor of meeting rooms and grand offices overlooking the city below. Nines could feel Mary’s anxiety behind him.

“There’s no cameras.” he reassured her, passing the grand doors and turning a corner. At the end of the hall was a simpler door next to a plaque that read _Roof Access_. Their destination. He glanced over his shoulder at her as they approached. “You know how to pick a lock?”

“Yeah.” she admitted. “Do you?”

Nines grinned at her, pulling his lockpick tool from his back pocket and tossing it her way. She caught it in her hands. “Good catch.”

“Jesus, this is fancy.” It looked like a swiss army knife, but its attachments had a single use. Mary peered at them before setting to work on the lock. It didn’t take her long, it was a simple thing - but Nines felt an odd well of pride nevertheless. Mary stood with a smug smile and pulled the door open.

They could hear the popping of fireworks already - Mary yelped and started running up the stairs that awaited. Nines followed her - she reached the door outside first and heaved her weight against it to get it open.

He watched her scurry around an air conditioner unit and ductwork to reach the roof’s edge, and for a brief moment he thought she was going to throw herself off the edge. However, she skidded to a stop before the half-wall around the roof, splaying her hands across it. “What time is it?” she called.

Nines checked his watch. “Five minutes.” His strides were calm, less frantic than hers - but her excitement was contagious, and he felt an odd sensation bubbling within him. He drew to her side and looked at the city sprawling out before them.

The stadium was lit up like a beacon, but throughout Los Angeles many other spotlights shone. Fireworks popped off in the air, their colors mirroring what could be seen on the freeways and streets below - gold and green and red. Mary bounced on her heels next to him.

He took off his watch and set it on the wall in front of them. “Harder to do a countdown with analog.” he apologized. “But you could try.”

“Man, we should have got champagne or something.” she sighed. “Really make it a celebration.”

Nines tilted his head. “Should have thought of that.” he murmured, earning a gentle elbow to the ribs from Mary.

“You got me up here, so I really can’t complain. You think if we listen we can hear the countdown?”

Maybe he could, if he channeled the ichor in his dead veins properly. “You telling me to shut up?”

She laughed - a sound he realized he was going to miss - and fell silent. Her gaze darted between his watch and the city beyond, eyes wide and shining. They caught the city lights, and for once Nines was thankful for his supernatural perception.

He heard the countdown first, an echo of an echo. An age was ending, and it cemented how far gone the past was. Yet he had a curse passed down through millenia - Mary had ancestors that had to have spanned back just as far - and it all culminated in the two of them standing side by side in that moment. Nines forgot the chasm between them, the world she could never understand, and for a few seconds he was Armando Rodriguez again.

**January 1, 2000**

The city below erupted, sprays of light rising from all across it - parks, city hall, the stadium, neighborhoods - fireworks legal and illegal bursting to life all together. Nines sensed movement beside him. In slow motion Mary turned and pressed her lips to his cheek.

“Happy New Year.” It was a chaste thing, and she pulled away before panic could take hold of him. Her cheeks flushed - and he was thankful he’d drained a few blood packs earlier. “That’s the thing you do when it’s midnight, yeah?”

“Guess it is.” he replied - their eyes were locked, and he saw her start to lean forward. Nines didn’t know if the pull he was radiating was on purpose or something subconscious, but he hastily broke their eye contact. With it, Mary looked back to the city and the two of them watched Los Angeles ring in the new millennium.

When the fireworks had died down to a point they could no longer see, Mary spoke again. “I almost forgot - got good news for you. If you picked up your phone, you’d know already.”

Nines raised his brow and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “I haven’t really been home lately. What happened?”

Mary beamed at him, but there was a trace of sadness in her eyes. “I got a job - not even a shitty one, but at this tech start up.” She was radiating excitement again, words coming out in a rush. “They really liked my interview, and even though it’s been a few years I did okay on the skill test - they’re willing to train me! First month’s paycheck can cover my rent for a couple of months, but I’ve got enough saved for a place close enough that I don’t have to take the bus.”

He returned her smile, with every bit of sadness she had. “Knew you’d knock ‘em dead, kid.”

When the wind picked up and Mary began to shiver, the two of them rode the elevator back down to the parking garage.

As they rode his motorbike back to the Last Round, Nines knew it was the end of more than one era.

It was strange, how the shortest ones stung the most.

**January 3, 2000**

Mary hadn’t seen Nines since he dropped her off after New Years. It was something she was somewhat used to - but she’d be moving to her new apartment soon and wanted to thank him one last time. To say goodbye - and to apologize. She fretted she’d overstepped by kissing his cheek, the man seemed to have an aversion to touch as it was but in the moment she’d been intoxicated by wonder.

When she opened her door to head over to the Last Round and give Sal the news, she found a piece of paper folded on the landing. Her curiosity peaked, she unfolded it to be greeted by elegant and sharp script.

_Mary,_

_I meant what I said when I knew you’d do well. You’re a bright young woman and have a future ahead of you. I wish I could see it, but you and I both know that’s not possible._

_You know my world’s different. If I know you, I know you’ve probably made all sorts of guesses. The only thing that matters is that you’re better off not knowing me where you’re going. I stuck around to make sure you got on track, but you won’t be seeing me again. Please don’t try to find me._

_It’s been a fun few weeks. I’m glad you knocked on my door. Go change the world, kid._

_Nines._

The letter shook in her hands, the handwritten script blurring from the tears stinging her eyes.

Maybe she’d been a fool to think her life could change so drastically so soon.

Mary was always bad at keeping friends.


	3. A Kiss Farewell

**February 3**

Nines didn’t return for a month. He knew when Mary left - she’d told Sal, who’d told Damsel, who’d told him - but he didn’t dare come back until he had to. He never believed he’d think of a Sabbat resurgence as a blessing, but the timing coincided with his need to crack some skulls.

Camarilla. Kuei-Jin. Sabbat. Los Angeles was getting crowded, and enemies were at each gate. Somehow Nines had become the one eyes turned to - and out of duty, he shouldered his burden alone.

For the first month he wondered how he’d managed before, though he knew the answer. Bottling everything up, keeping his internal walls as stony as his exterior. He’d spent decades numb save for anger, to the point where he’d nearly forgotten what it was to feel anything else. In a handful of weeks it’d all come undone.

Perhaps he was more delicate than he thought. Perhaps they all were - putting on plays and pretending they were all colder than they were so they wouldn’t all go mad and walk into the next sunrise. Continuing to exist in their state was a delusion itself - an acknowledgement that they were blights on the landscape and parasites but a refusal to do the right thing and let their stain fade from the world. He understood why some chose to see their affliction as an evolution, a higher state of being. It was better to transcend. Maybe he’d choose the same, in enough time.

As it was, Nines swallowed his newfound resentment of his condition and threw himself into his work. He hadn’t chosen his fate, abandoned by his Sire, and so many others were in the same state. He had to help where he could, do everything in his power to save himself and others from being cogs in a great machine they wanted no part of.

The Sabbat’s resurgence added an element of violence to the Los Angeles nights. Nines lost himself within it, the blood of his clan making each crack of bone music to his ears.

After the first few weeks, however, the Sabbat shovelheads retreated back to wherever they’d come from, and rumors spread of a powerful figure of their own arriving in the city. Nines just hoped that whoever it was and the Camarilla Prince would kill each other and save him the trouble.

It meant another meeting in the Last Round, a count of their dead and lost resources. Nines listened in silence as Damsel rattled names off, her tone growing more frustrated with each passing line. Skelter spoke of San Francisco, fallen to the Kuei-Jin, and the gathered Kindred argued over which of their foes presented the greatest threat. The only conclusion any could agree on was that they needed more numbers - and that had been a constant.

Damsel had more people coming in from the east. Mary’s loft was to be occupied at last.

He walked out of the bar feeling as if he’d accomplished nothing. The front door of the apartments next to the Last Round seemed to shine in the streetlights, calling him forward. It was time - his last to see the place before new souls settled within it.

Nines ascended the stairs, the building seeming quieter than before. Colder. When he reached the landing of the fifth floor, he nearly turned back. His letter wasn’t present, so he knew she must have read it - he wondered what awaited him within. Mary had only called his phone once (to no answer), hadn’t returned to the Last Round once she’d departed - if nothing else, she listened when he told her not to find him.

The door to the loft was unlocked. He stepped inside and found it dark - the curtains were drawn closed once more. As his eyes adjusted to pierce the darkness, he noted a thin layer of dust had settled over everything once more. Once Mary left, she’d left for good. What little belongings of her own Mary had in her time living there were gone, the loft bare as it’d been before - save for a glint of metal on the living room table. Nines approached, finding his lockpicking tool. There was a post-it note next to it - he picked it up and carried it nearer the window, cracking the curtain to let the streetlights illuminate it.

_Thought I should give this back. You’ll need it more than I will._

_I don’t agree with you. I filled a note with fuck yous, just to get it out of my system. So if you find it, I didn’t mean it._

Nines paused in his reading to chuckle, and felt a strange ache. He missed her.

_Thanks for everything. I want to say see you around, whatever you say, but I won’t leave my new number._

_Mary_

He returned to the table, slipping the lockpicking tool into his back pocket alongside the note. In continuing to investigate the loft, he found Mary’s crumpled note of _‘fuck you’_ s on the floor. Her scent still lingered by the bed, but otherwise she may as well have never existed.

When he closed the loft door behind him, he put the interlude it was behind him.

**December 10, 2003**

Mary marked off the fourth anniversary of her life beginning. She stared at her calendar - host to cute pictures of animals from the local humane society, earned from a donation to the place - and wondered if she should make the fifth anniversary a special occasion.

It was late - she’d just pulled another double shift at work. Cybersecurities wasn’t where she thought she’d end up in life, but it provided enough challenge to keep her endlessly interested, and preparations for the election in the coming year had given the company that employed her more than enough work to do.

Being a workaholic wasn’t something Mary had seen for herself either. Friends were, as they’d ever been, rare - she had coworkers she exchanged the odd joke with, but everyone seemed too involved with their own lives and she hadn’t the heart to try and push herself into their bubble. Not that she minded - online chat rooms gave her some social outlet, at least.

She cast her gaze over to her computer, her desk not far from her bed. Mary hadn’t moved from the studio apartment she’d first found - she liked the close quarters, the efficiency of living in one room. It was easy to take care of, and it was nice enough - the building was new, and the window over her kitchen sink overlooked the street so she could people watch. There was even a balcony, though she didn’t use it often - Mary tended to burn rather than tan, and it wasn’t as if she entertained.

Soon she’d have enough saved up to put a down payment on some place of her own. Part of her wanted to wait - to find someone to look at houses with, a partner to share her space with. It was what everyone did, what felt like the schedule of life. Mary was on the later edge of her mid 20s - many women were getting married and starting families. Her life wasn’t one that she lived ‘normally’, though - the memory of her first marriage still stung, and she didn’t know if anyone sweet enough to spend the rest of her life with could understand where she’d come from. Assuming she could even _find_ anyone. People had found their soulmates in chat rooms before, but Mary knew she couldn’t trust it.

She glanced back at the calendar, a long haired grey cat drinking out of a water bowl being the display for December. Maybe she’d get a pet to keep her company. Crazy cat lady - that was a future that she could see for herself.

Mary chuckled to herself and changed into her pajamas, crawling into bed shortly after. Having a king size mattress came with its regrets - she was often all too aware of the space of it, and she almost couldn't remember the last time she’d touched someone. Or been touched.

She could remember, though - the man she’d been trying to forget but who still lingered in her mind against all logic, in the moments when she wanted nothing more than someone to touch her _. Nines._

It probably spoke poorly of her view on relationships that the one man who came to her mind in certain moments was also the one who’d ghosted her - even if she agreed with his reasoning.

Cat lady it was.

She buried her blushing face in her pillow and turned off her lamp.

**July 25, 2004**

A man from corporate came to oversee Mary’s office - he’d been pulled in to consult when it came to electronic ballots, but he was the first person in her workplace to make a point of introducing themselves to her.

“Julian.” he smiled at her, and when she shook his hand she found his grip to be strong but not crushing. He had long auburn hair that fell in waves, tucked neatly behind his ears. He was handsome in an elfin way, and had green eyes that made Mary a little weak at the knees.

“Mary.” she introduced herself, and his smile widened in a way she realized she recognized - Nines had grinned the same way when she told him her name.

“I’ve heard you do excellent work.”

He gave her his number a few days before his consulting contract ended.

**August 20**

It had been a few years since Nines had been to west LA - it was relatively quiet, basically suburbia in parts - especially in Castle Heights. He’d been to greet one of Isaac’s people who’d set up one of many alternate havens for their activities, ensuring the Anarch network of safe houses spanned the entire city - though Nines had some reservations about bringing their own brand of hell to a neighborhood of families and suburbanites.

Still, he enjoyed the quiet - well, the relative quiet, given the proximity of the neighborhood to LAX - but the west side was sleepier than the frantic bustle of downtown or constant activity of East LA. Santa Monica was a stone’s throw away.

He heard nothing but his footsteps on the pavement and the odd passing car as he walked down the sidewalk, heading to the grocery store where he’d parked his bike. Parking laws - that’s what he hated about these bedroom communities, any yuppie with too much time on their hands able to get his motorcycle towed or the cops on the scene if they didn’t like the looks of him.

As he approached a small apartment building, he saw what must have been one of them. A woman in a body hugging red dress that glittered in the streetlights - short enough that she was shivering in the evening wind. She wobbled in her high heels as she tried to find the key to the place. Nines had meant to pass her by without a second glance, but as the wind shifted to blow towards him he was hit by a familiar scent.

Nines stopped in his tracks only a few feet from her, and the woman noticed the sudden halt of his footsteps. She looked up, reaching into her purse for what could have been pepper spray or a knife, but when her eyes alighted on him her mouth dropped open, mirroring his own expression.

“Nines?”

Mary had filled out in the years since he’d seen her - there was no trace of her previous bony frame and sharp knees, only softness in their place. The dark circles under her eyes had disappeared, stress’ effects on her features faded. She’d kept her hair close to the same length, though she parted it differently - and her eyes were lightly rimmed with dark liner. There was a confidence in her stance that he still recognized - even in her too-tall shoes.

For the first time in years he was at a loss for words, caught completely off guard. “Uh. Hey. Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“No shit.” Mary replied, the hand that held her keys hanging limply at her side. The two of them stared at each other for several moments, drinking in every change of detail. She broke the silence first. “This doesn’t seem like your kind of neighborhood.”

“It isn’t. I had someone to meet.”

She dared a smile. “Should I be worried that my sleepy little community’s going to turn into a den of crime?”

Just like that, it was like old times - she got a laugh out of him, the first he’d had in months. “Not unless things go really wrong, no.” Nines stuffed his hands in his pockets, unsure of what else to do with them. “Things going good?”

“Yeah!” Mary breathed, her answer a little too quick. “Uh. Well, mostly. Work’s nice.”

“You look good.” He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth, uncharacteristically awkward.

Still, her smile widened a little. “Thanks. I had a date, thought I’d get dressed up.”

For some reason he felt a little disappointed. “Yeah? How’d it go?”

“Bad.” Mary laughed - out of nervousness, maybe. “He kept asking me all these weird questions, felt more like a job interview than anything. Guess that’s what I get dating in the workplace.”

“Sounds like a dick.”

“Got dressed up for nothing.” She laughed again, keys clinking against each other in her hand. “Hey, um-” she began hesitantly. “- do you… you wanna come up? I can show you my new digs. Well, new for you, not for me.”

It was so similar to the way she’d first asked him if he wanted to visit her in the loft that Nines wasn’t sure he could say no even if he wanted to. He returned her smile. “Fuck it. Sure.”

She found her key to the place quickly enough after that.

Mary was on the second floor - the staircase was free of water stains, the carpet clean - the place smelled like fresh paint.

“It’s a little small-” she said apologetically, unlocking the door to her apartment. “It’s a studio, but hey, it’s home.”

Nines stepped inside after her, closing the door behind him. He looked around while she tore open the straps of her heels with prejudice. It was a cozy place - the walls were painted a cheery yellow, the small kitchen overlooked the street and had tomatoes placed in the windowsill to ripen. Mary had a tiny floral loveseat facing the television in the space where a dining table was supposed to go, a pile of neatly ordered movies stacked next to it. There was a computer desk in the carpeted section meant for a living room - Nines knew little about them, but knew enough to tell that the electronics were possibly more expensive than the place itself. Next to the desk was a massive bed with a baby blue comforter, a few books scattered on the floor next to it. Anywhere there was free space was taken over by a plant, or a stack of a few CDs, or more books. It was well lived in, and well loved.

He couldn’t help but smile. She’d done well for herself.

Mary was already taking a few steps toward the kitchen. “Do you want coffee? It’s kind of late, but I figure you’re still working nights - I’ve got tea, too, or soda-”

“It’s fine, Mary.” Nines replied gently, trying to assuage her nerves. “This is the nicest place I’ve been in for weeks.” Suddenly he was struck by the gravity of the situation - she’d invited him into her home, alone. Back when he was still alive there was only one thing it could have meant - and Nines found to a small amount of horror that if it was the case he was somewhat _excited_ about it.

It was the stress, he told himself, the separation - he’d connected her with better times in his mind, conditioned himself to think of her closeness as relief.

Neither of them had said anything for several minutes, he realized. Mary was staring at him as he was staring at her, leaning against her kitchen counter and gripping it tightly, as if trying to anchor herself against it.

“You know.” she started, a roughness to her voice he’d never heard before. “You’re not who I thought I’d be taking home tonight.”

A tingling started in his fingers, and before he could stop himself the words he’d been thinking left his mouth.

“I missed you.”

Nines watched her chest heave with a deep intake of breath, saw her pupils widen. Something was changing - and he didn’t know where things were about to go. Unlike the unknown dark spanning before him, it was an uncertainty that thrilled him.

“You told me not to find you.” she said, a cautiousness surrounding her body language - still holding to the counter, shoulders slightly hunched.

He nodded.

“But you’re here.”

He nodded again.

“You’re the only man I’ve met who ever seemed to give a shit.” Mary was so candid he would have thought she was intoxicated were it not for the clarity in her voice. _Conviction_ , he’d almost call it - and he was tempted to grab her by the shoulders and show her what he was, tear something apart in front of her, drag her to the bodies he’d buried. “I tried to forget. I can’t.”

“Mary.” Nines breathed. An apology he’d wanted to write down years ago but bitten back finally found purchase on his tongue. “I’m sorry. If… if things were different-”

“But they’re not.” she finished for him, a strange accord of understanding between them. “I know. I just…” Mary looked to her feet for a moment. “Look. I had a bad date, and you show up. I don’t want to say it’s fate, but -” When she looked up again, her eyes locked onto his. “- if there’s a chance you feel the same way I do, I don’t want it to pass. Even if you leave tomorrow. Even if we never talk to each other again. I’m okay with dying single, but I don’t want any regrets.”

His mouth went dry, mind catching up with her implication. “... what do you want?”

In spite of himself, of every part of his better judgement screaming otherwise, he wanted to hear her say it. Nines wanted to _know_ , even if he should have fled for the door.

Mary swallowed, a glint of fear in her eyes. Still hesitant, as if there was any chance she could scare him off.

“You.”

Nines stepped toward her, closing the distance between them. Mary inhaled sharply, and he saw goosebumps ripple across her skin.

“Why?”

She held his gaze, even with only a few inches between them. “I want a good lay at least once in my life.”

He didn’t believe her - why him, when there were so many humans, so many others - kinder, softer, _warmer_. What reason did she have to think he’d be able to give her what she wanted? “I don’t have any condoms.” An excuse, an attempt to dissuade her.

“I’m on the pill.” she replied, unbudging. There were other things to worry about, but she didn’t seem to think of them with him - and she was fortunate enough that for him, they didn’t apply.

“If you think you still owe me, you don’t need to-”

“I want to.” Mary silenced him, staring up at him with eyes that pierced. “Do you?”

Something bloomed inside of him. He lowered his head toward hers, slow enough to give her room to back out. Instead she met him, her lips pressing against his. Soft - softer than anything he’d come across. Nines didn’t remember the last time he’d kissed anyone, but it was easy enough to follow Mary’s lead. They were almost chaste at first, lips brushing each other - but soon a need he didn’t know he had started to influence his actions. He could taste her, smell her - he desired nearness for so long yet hadn’t known it until the moment her lips were on his. Nines pulled her closer and she deepened the kiss, all the while he battled not to devour her, his own kisses needy, playing dangerous when he let his teeth brush her bottom lip.

Mary leaned back in his arms, and he let her pull them back to her bed. The moment her thighs connected with the mattress she’d started to unzip his jacket. Nines shrugged it off and tossed it somewhere beyond. He gently pushed her back onto the mattress, but her own hands were slipping up his undershirt, pulling it up his torso. Mary’s fingertips left trails of heat in their wake, and he pulled his shirt over his head and let it join his jacket on the floor. Where others might have stared at his physique, Mary dared furtive glances back up at his face, as if knowing it was him only heightened her desire. It was so sweet it nearly didn’t belong where they were - where they were heading. He leaned forward to kiss her again, slowly pushing her dress up and over her thighs until it was bunched up at her waist. Nines broke away from her and she whined in disapproval, her lips chasing his.

“I want to look at you first.” he murmured, and her head fell back against the pillow.

Her hair was fanned about her, eyes heavy lidded and pupils blown wide, lips swollen from being kissed. Mary shrunk under his gaze, unconsciously bringing her legs together - her previous eagerness was tempered by nervousness. She offered up a shy smile. “Do… do you…”

“You’re beautiful.” he answered her unfinished question, and her body relaxed, opening back up to him. With her chin tilted up her neck was exposed - in spite of himself he trailed his fingers down it, feeling her pulse jump under his fingertips. With great willpower he dragged his hand downward, tracing the sweep of her collarbones.

“Nines.” she whimpered, shifting her hips beneath him. He smirked and kept his movements slow - trying to etch everything he saw into memory. At last he let his hand brush over her hip bones. Mary tilted herself against his hand reflexively, and he ran his fingers along her underwear before finally resting his palm between her legs. Mary arched her back to better press herself against him, letting out a soft moan.

He kept his hand on her and laid on his side next to her, leaning in so his mouth was at her ear. “It seems like you’re happy to do the work.” It drew forth another moan from her, changing in pitch as he increased the pressure of his palm. Nines could feel how wet she was through her underwear - it sent him for her neck, trailing kisses up and down it.

“Nines.” she repeated herself, tilting her head back to give him better access to her neck. It was nearly an open invitation, but still he merely brushed his teeth against her skin, tracing over goosebumps with his tongue. “ _Please_.”

“You’re less talkative than usual.” he smiled against her skin, earning a needy groan of frustration. Nines told himself his next action was for her sake - he needed blood for what she wanted from him - and his fangs pierced her neck just as he slipped his fingers under the waistband of her underwear and stroked her bare clit.

He didn’t know if the gasp she let out was from pleasure or pain, but as her blood trickled down the back of his tongue he felt ripples of the same feeling she did. A heady rush of hormones came with her blood, igniting warmth deep within him - but he was merely having a taste. He lifted his mouth from her neck before the Kiss made her hazy and ran his tongue back over the wound, leaving her skin pristine and untarnished.

“Do that again.” she breathed when he pulled away - Mary might not have known precisely what he’d done, but she’d had a taste - and liked it.

“Never knew you were greedy.” he grinned. Her lips sought his again, and he channeled blood through his dead veins, warming his skin and returning breath to him. He was reacquainted with the feeling of his erection straining against his jeans, the sensitivity when she brushed against it. It was for her sake, he repeated in his mind, just part of the artifice - but his mind was beginning to wander to _more_.

Nines continued to stroke her - he was starting to recall the rhythm of things, pulled from the fog of memory. Even in life he had little time to be a lover - but he was more attentive than most. He adjusted his movements and tailored them based on her reactions, watching in fascination how he could draw forth different sighs from her. There was no way he could be as gentle as she needed - his hands were a worker’s hands, rough - but he did all he could to keep his touch soft.

A thought struck him, and he moved away from her neck, tracing kisses down her collarbone and shifting downward on his stomach until his head was between her thighs. Nines let his hand slip out from beneath her underwear - plain black cotton briefs, a stark contrast to the shimmering dress she wore.

Mary propped herself up on her elbows, peering down at him between her legs. She looked at him as if he was the most wonderful thing in the world, her cheeks flushed. Whatever dark wishes the bestial part of him possessed died when he saw the warmth in her eyes. “What are you - ”

The idea that Mary had never been kissed where he intended to kiss her was enough to drown out all other thought. It was tempting to rip her underwear off, but he managed to control himself enough to pull it down her thighs with as much delicacy as he could muster. He was momentarily halted at the sight of her exposed - even with so many decades passed, there was still something sacred about such a level of intimacy. Porcelain skin turned to rosy lips, glistening from his attentions. He brushed his thumb against the downy tuft of hair above her center just to feel the texture of it - he dearly wanted to explore every inch of her, but he knew this would be all he had. Mary giggled, to his surprise. “You look like you’ve never seen-”

Her words turned to a strangled moan when he pressed his mouth to her cunt.

Nines laved his tongue over her clit, bringing forth more strangled noises of bliss from Mary. She squirmed beneath him, and he dragged her legs over his shoulders to keep her still. He was stone, immovable - and still her body coiled, a sheen of sweat building on her skin that wasn’t still covered by the dress. He was thankful he didn’t have to breathe - he let himself drown in her, allowed her thighs to tighten around him, cradling him against her. Mary went nearly silent as her body drew more and more tense, the only noise from her the occasional gasp for air. He could sense she was approaching the cliff, and moved to push a finger into her core.

It was as if he’d drawn a bowstring, her entire body going taut around him. The heat inside of her was intense, something memory could not replicate. Nines ceased all movement save that of his finger, slowly circling it inside of her until he found the spot that made her heart skip a beat.

“Please, more, I’m almost...” she choked out, gathering clarity long enough for a breathy request.

 _More_. She was less fragile than he’d given her credit for, and he slipped another finger into her, feeling her walls press tightly against him. He heard her grunt, felt her heart stammer out its frantic beat, and started to thrust his curled fingers in and out of her - she was so wet he met no resistance. His mouth returned to work at her clit, and at last she broke beneath him.

Nines had pushed her over the edge. Her body rocked a paroxysm of pleasure, half formed moans escaping her and interrupting each other, echoing every movement he made against her. He felt her convulsions from within, a mad thought of what it’d be like to be inside of her when she came rising in his mind. He lifted his mouth from her and watched her face - her lips trembled beautifully. In those few moments she was completely herself, her purest state, unconcerned with any affairs beyond her body - strands of hair stuck to her face, gaze gentle and unfocused. He let his fingers slide out when hints of pain colored her expression, overstimulation taking over.

He rested his hand against her inner thigh, fingers leaving a glistening trail on her skin. Nines sat up and leaned back on his heels, smiling at his handiwork while Mary caught her breath.

“You able to talk again?”

Mary struggled upright, her dress rumpled around her and hair tousled. Her legs were still splayed to either side of him, but any previous self consciousness on her part had evaporated. “So… that’s what it’s like.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never come before.”

“No thanks to anyone else. It’s different on your own.”

It was impossible not to feel a bit of pride, but soon the blood running hot through him pushed itself to the forefront of his mind. Nines was expecting Mary to be tired - he planned for this to be all their night would be - but instead she drew her dress over her shoulders and tossed it to the floor. Her bra joined it shortly thereafter, and Nines realized she wasn’t done with him yet.

Mary didn’t give him much of a chance to look over her body, for soon her hands were skimming over his abs and hips, drawing together at his belt buckle.

“I guess that means you’re-” He broke off when her hand brushed against his erection, sending sparks of sensation he hadn’t felt in an age shivering through him. “ - happy with the results.”

Mary huffed. “Are you going to help me with this, or are you going to talk shit?”

Nines guided her hands away, pulling off his belt and what clothes remained with the fluidity only supernatural grace could offer. He held none of her self consciousness when it came to his own body - he’d long since stopped even thinking of it as a thing that could please - but the way she murmured _holy shit_ still stroked his ego.

Mary seemed intent on stroking _more_ than that, but he batted her hands away and gripped her hips, pulling her forward so she hovered above his lap, standing on her knees so they were at eye level. “This is about you.” he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers. “If you don’t want to-”

She silenced him with a kiss far too tender for a one night stand. “Might have dreamed of this.” she whispered - they had nothing but honesty between them. “Have you?”

Nines pulled her to him in a crushing kiss, her chest pressed against his, her skin pebbled with goosebumps and so warm he thought it’d consume him. He felt her hand reach between them, delicate fingers grasping his shaft - instinctually his hips bucked, and she giggled against his lips.

“I’ve never seen you like this before.” she murmured, guiding him to her entrance, the tip of his cock rubbing tantalizingly against her folds. Nothing could ever compare to the rush of blood from a fresh kill, but _this_ \- with her eyes locked on his, teetering on the edge of the peak of human pleasure - it came close.

He opened his mouth to say that he wasn’t sure he’d _felt_ like this before, but his words were stolen from him for Mary had let her knees relax and sank onto him until he was buried within her. She gasped, and so did he - and then her arms were wrapped around his shoulders, her hips rocking back and forth in his lap. Nines couldn’t help his fingers from digging into her thighs and ass, and after a few moments he held her tight enough to force her to still.

“Wait.” he breathed, a hair’s breadth from doing something he’d regret. Her motions were almost teasing, and his mind was running a constant refrain of _more_. Nines felt more fragile than Mary was - she’d threaded into him and found the cracks. “I don’t want… to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me.” Mary replied, murmured with such certainty it made him ache. “Show me.” she whispered. “Show me how it’s supposed to be.”

It undid the last of his self control. With a growl that was dreadfully his he leaned forward so her back was pressed into the mattress and his body was atop hers. She yelped, an eager excitement in her eyes. Nines lifted her hips so that he could hit the spot in her that made her vocalize in the purest tones, and drove into her with the constant and merciless strength of the undying.

Nines had worried he’d hurt her, but she loved it - her legs locked around his waist as if trying to pull him in deeper, and he leaned forward to press his forehead against hers, breathing in her every exhale and hearing the brief exultations her moans all too quickly stole away. This was the last time - _the only time_ \- they’d ever have, and he wished he could hold onto it forever - wished that it was something she’d remember.

One of her hands moved to her clit, the other grasping hold of the sheets. He could feel her body tense again, knew her tells - she was getting close once more, and he smudged kisses down her face, his lips on her neck once more. Her pulse danced under his tongue, their bodies moving in tandem, a wholeness he didn’t know he could feel. Nines heard her breath still, and the tension in her body snapped.

His teeth pierced her skin just as her second orgasm hit her - the rush that came with her blood had him seeing stars, a rumbling groan sounding in his chest when he hit something resembling a peak of his own. The line between them thinned as he drank from her, her own sensation echoed in her blood and flowing into his veins. For once the Kiss wasn’t some ironic title, but his last connection to her, a final farewell. When Mary collapsed into hazy bliss he knew his work was done, licking the blood and sweat from her neck before withdrawing.

“Can you stay?” she murmured when he stood to pull his jeans back on. Nines didn’t know if it was the lingering effects of the Kiss or something genuine that made her say it, but he glanced at the clock nevertheless.

3 AM. He had a little time.

Nines dressed before he laid down next to her once more - instinctually Mary drew herself close to him and curled up at his side, resting her head on his chest. There was something about the simple trust she had for him that had him tempted to spend the night and risk sunrise - a trust he didn’t think he’d ever receive in his world, the very state of being Kindred requiring one to have a plan to kill everyone they met. It was enough for him to consider what would happen if he Embraced her - to have that trust carried over, to give her power she never dreamed of, to ensure that the moment he had with her in his arms would last forever. It was quickly dismissed. To Embrace her and bring her into the Kindred would be to bind her to him in blood. The longing he felt was because she had _chosen_. Forcing anything upon her would taint and corrupt the precious treasure he’d found. Mary had the sky to reach. It wasn’t his place to shackle her. He stopped the artifice and allowed the blood in his veins to still, returning to the corpse he knew he was.

“You’re cold.” Mary shivered, barely able to keep her eyes open. He took one last look at her naked body before he gently drew the comforter over her. Nines wondered if her warmth would be the last he felt - the last like this.

“Go to sleep. I’m here.” He spoke against her hair, kissing the crown of her head.

They laid together for several minutes more, until her breathing slowed with the fall into unconsciousness. Nines watched her lashes flutter with the onset of dreaming and traced her fingers with his own, but he knew their time had run out. He extricated himself from her grip and put a pillow in his place, unable to keep from smiling as Mary moved to embrace it in her sleep. If luck held, she’d think the entire event was a dream, the Kiss blurring her memories. If not, she’d think he used her and left.

If it was what it took to keep her safe, so be it. Nines stood and took one last look at her sleeping form. Mary was peaceful, in a home she’d made for herself, a haven of her own filled with little markers of what she’d built. A far cry from the woman he’d met.

He tore his gaze from her and walked to the door. He didn’t look back.

Duty awaited him.

**August 21**

When Mary awoke, she held only her pillow in her arms. She groaned, chasing the dream that was so soon fading from her memory. It had felt so real, more intense than anything - and yet, as so many before it, it was chased away by the sun.

She punched her pillow before letting her body go limp, unwilling to face the day. Another Saturday. Another lonely weekend. Maybe she’d go clubbing, see if she could find someone drunk enough to find her dancing appealing.

It couldn’t compare to what her mind conjured - to Nines, or at least the image she held of him in her mind. What was the point? Maybe she’d finally give up the ghost and walk into one of the stores with blacked out windows and pick up a vibrator.

As she fell into the haze of half-consciousness once again, she wondered if this was all her life was going to be. She’d come so far from where she started, and yet she hungered for more.

**September 9**

Something woke her up. The moon was still out, shining dimly through her kitchen window. Mary rolled over to see the time - her digital clock read midnight. She had to get up to get ready for work in seven hours.

She rolled onto her back, intent on falling back asleep - but the scent of rot had reached her nostrils. As if something had been dead a very long time, more musty than sickly sweet - accompanied with the familiar scent of damp and mold, earthy - not entirely disgusting, but far from pleasant. The hair on her arm was standing on end.

Mary sat up abruptly, reaching out for her lamp. When she turned the switch, nothing happened. Had the bulb burned out?

“You will want darkness, child.” A man’s voice spoke in the darkness, startling a yelp out of her.

Mary still kept the knife under her pillow, and reached out for it - clasping her hand around it and peering frantically into the darkness. She saw no figure.

“Who’s there?”

“My name is Casimir.” The voice was inhuman, as if a tiger had been given speech - low and growling, reverberating in a way that she felt in her chest. Powerful and dark. Her heart beat as if it was trying to escape her ribcage. “You are afraid.”

“Why are you here?” Mary demanded to the darkness, trying to school her expression into something fearsome. Whoever it was, they were going to get a blade to the gut if they tried anything.

“You have been chosen.” Casimir replied. “My servant was pleased with you. I mirror his thoughts.”

Her mind raced, trying to think of who the stranger spoke. “Julian?”

Mary swore she could hear a smile in Casimir’s voice. “Yes. Clever.” There were footsteps - heavy ones, suggesting whoever Casimir was, he was _large_. There was an accent in his voice she couldn’t place - European was her best guess. “Now you see a shade of the mystery, part of the map put to light.”

She swallowed. “His questions…”

“Were for me, yes.” There was amusement in Casimir’s tone now. “I know you hold a blade. There will be no need for it. I will only kill you if you wish me to.”

“Why-” She already asked him why he was there, and didn’t understand the answer. “What have I been chosen for? Why have I been chosen?”

“These are the Final Nights. If you wish it, you will be my final Childe.” Casimir explained. “The end is coming - redemption approaches, our chains are soon to be broken. There are those that hunt my people - your people, if you choose. My ancestors, my kin, older than memory, older than language - the _Niktuku_. They hate us beyond comprehension, they hold the power of gods - and those they destroy will have no souls to be welcomed to the Beyond. I have travelled far, for years beyond your reckoning, seen the ages turn. I have studied tomes thought lost, listened to prophets preach in blackest speech, all to learn how they may be defeated. Through all these ages I have Embraced Childer, taught them all I know. You will be the last, a chosen child born to these Final Nights, a fledgling who will have no Sire and no knowledge beyond what I tell you now. Pure and unsullied, a mind open for every possibility. Free of whatever failings I may possess. If you wish.”

Mary couldn’t comprehend half the words he was saying - she wondered if he was the insane head of some sort of cult, wondered if the reincarnation of Manson himself was at her doorstep. “And if I refuse?”

“You already know too much.” It wasn’t sadness in Casimir’s tone, not exactly - but a hint of melancholy, of exhaustion. “To refuse is to choose death. It may be more merciful, in the end. I will make it painless.”

Her blood ran cold. “I can’t die.” she whispered, more to herself than anything - the barrier between her thoughts and speech was nonexistent, she wasn’t entirely sure that this wasn’t just a horrible nightmare in contrast to her blissful dream weeks ago. “I can’t. Not yet. I’m only just-”

“You’ve only started to become.” Casimir finished for her, fully understanding the concept that plagued her. “I can aid in your metamorphosis. Others will not understand.” he warned.

“No one’s ever understood me.” Mary answered, a strange clarity settling over her. There was gravity in the man’s words, they were starting to make an odd sort of sense, an abstract understanding of what dwelled in her heart. She swallowed. One person had, but he was long gone. She wondered what Nines would think of her, what he would do - would he fight the figure in the darkness? Or would he urge her to take his offer?

“Child.” Casimir’s tone was nearly paternal, as if he was about to sing her a lullaby. “Do you wish to see the truth of what we are? Do you wish to become mankind’s heart, without edifice, without masks - to feel true freedom? Bound not by petty values of beauty, but by truth?”

Mary’s eyes shone, curiosity pulling her forward. What was the saying? Curiosity killed the cat.

“Yes.”

When Casimir next spoke, his voice was louder - closer. “Do you wish to set aside your mortal shell and all oppression, in exchange for the strength of centuries?”

As he spoke his words resonated within her like the beat of the drum, rippling with truth. Nothing would ever hurt her again.

“Yes.”

“Do you wish to cast aside the trappings of this life, and transcend?” He could only be a few feet away, judging by his voice - lingering at the edge of the darkness of her apartment, where moonlight could not reach.

It was madness, but it was _change_ \- something beyond, something greater, something more. The alternative was death, she had no choice - and with every answer the man came closer, closer to her blade.

“Yes.”

“Bear witness, child, to what you will become.”

A shape moved into the shaft of moonlight - the hem of a dark robe, then a sash of woven cloth and a metal sort-of chatelaine, tools and carvings from some apocryphal time Mary could not comprehend. Then stone - or what she’d thought was stone, but realized with horror was cracked flesh, hard and dark as obsidian, shattered along the lines of movement of the body. It twisted into vine-like shapes along the chest, up the neck, as if the earth itself had been scorched, glassed and given life. At last the head - a jaw full of too many teeth, cheeks torn open by them and displaying rows upon rows of needlepoints. A twisted nose, eyes sunken so deep in the sockets they seemed not to exist but for the glow of white pupils. Ears jagged and batlike, and a skull cracked open like a geode.

Mary wanted to scream, but her breath failed her. Instead she stared.

Casimir studied her for a heartbeat, and in the next his jaw opened - unhinged, wider than anything had a right to.

Mary blinked, and the heartbeat after that she felt warmth flooding over her, smelled iron. Idly she realized Casimir’s teeth were buried in her neck, tearing at the flesh of it - her blood was gushing down the front of her, soaking her bed. She tried to bring her arm up, to slash at him with her knife - but her movements were limp, her blood unable to reach her limbs. He was killing her after all.

The edges of her vision started to blur. She thought of her parents - dead, her hand holding the pistol, _free at last_ \- her husband, who’d told her everyone would hate her if they knew the truth - and Nines, who seemed to _know_ and understand and still had left her forever.

As her body grew cold, she thought that perhaps it was no great shame.

Mary Bishop died fifteen minutes into the ninth of September, 2004.

Seconds after, Casimir slashed open his wrist and pressed it to her lips, and the tainted blood of the Nosferatu filled her empty veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is a prequel to Bloodlines, the sequel will be more conventional covering the game's events from a Nosferatu point of view. Surprise! Thanks for reading, I went into this knowing it'd be pretty niche so any kudos and feedback at all give me the warm fuzzies. <3


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